


Shipwwrecked

by Krisander



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Mostly Fluff, Some Action, enjoy??, i dont even know what to put here, just a general fic, some hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:32:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 60,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krisander/pseuds/Krisander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young human finds himself in a caught out in the ocean in a terrible storm. A brooding seatroll witnesses a sinking ship and goes to investigate. The rest, as they say, is history.</p>
<p>[A general fic that mostly centers around EridanJohn. I promised people another rarepair moirallegiance. I fucking deliver on my promises. Also, my moirail might be particularly attached to this fic. So I had to continue it.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caught in a Tempest

You have never been so terrified in your entire life.

Wait, let's back up a moment. Your name is Johnathan, an apprentice under a renown baker. You have unruly black hair that has cowlicks everywhere and eyes so blue that there is really nothing to compare them to besides a summer's clear sky (or so everyone says). These eyes are usually hidden because of your squinting, but the thing you hate the most are your overgrown teeth. Even when you are trying to conceal them, they peep out over your bottom lip. Other than that, you are an average, slightly-gangly sixteen-year-old, much like any other.

How you have gotten to this point of terror is a matter of family business. You grew up on a remote island with your twin sister Jade, your dog Becquerel, and Grandpa Harley. However, when Grandpa Harley became older and more frail, you had decided to hop on one of the ships that restocked on the island; once at the mainland, you sought out a job to begin sending much needed money and supplies back home. In all actuality, you had not been back to the island you called home for three long years. The only reason you were on your way to the island now was because of a troubling letter you had received saying that your grandfather had fallen ill. You know that Jade could handle everything herself, but you felt that you needed to be there, if for nothing but moral support.

So once again you had boarded a fine seagoing vessel and headed out to sea. This time you were a bit older, and thus had more of an opportunity to help out around the ship with your hammerkind strife specibus (which was unexpectedly handy for tamping down pegs and planks back into place). Occasionally your pranks annoyed the sailors, but overall they quite enjoyed having an extra set of hands on deck. You loved being out on the water, as the soothing waves reminded you of playful winds sweeping through open grass fields.

Right now it is completely different. The sky is pitch black and blinding white-blue in turns, thunder roaring so loudly that your teeth rattle. The storm had come from out of nowhere, quickly overtaking the ship and tossing it like an angry bull. Completely soaked to the bone, you slam into the railing yet again when a particularly nasty swell strikes the boat. Strong hands grip you, pulling you back upright and onto slightly more stable footing. One of the sailors, you think his name is Jones, yells into your face for you to get your ass below. Then suddenly everything is water.

Now you are frightened beyond belief because there is no surface. In the darkness and rushing currents, you cannot tell which way is up. Hell, you do not even know left from right. All you know is the battering of the water feels worse than any strife, and your lungs are burning with the need to draw in air. Something collides with you with enough force to knock your breath away, which soon proves to be an awful idea. You gasp in a lungful of water, which does nothing to satisfy your need for air and does everything to make the burning turn into a horrible fire.

Before you even realize what is happening, your head breaks the water. The wind whipping around your face is freezing and full of icy pellets of rain, but you attempt to choke out the water you had mistakenly inhaled all the same. Another wave briefly knocks you back under, cutting off your attempt to breathe. You emerge once again just in time to see the jagged rocks appearing from the gloom. Unable to alter your course, you brace yourself for impact.

* * * * *

You eye the thunderhead coming in moodily, not at all up for battening down the hatches. You know Imperious will be neighing at you to stop brooding any moment, but you cannot find it in yourself to care. Ever since you, Eridan Ampora- violetblood noble- had been dumped by your moirail, you have found it hard to care about anything at all. Then again if dear Feferi had cared at all about bloodlines, she never would have grown so tired of your theatrics in the first place. Now you can admit that perhaps you were a bit too cruel and blind in your ambition. However, it is much too late for you to tell her what you have learned. She had already moved on from your botched attempt to court her in a... more flushed quadrant. Last you heard, she was dating that lowly psionic with a lisp. Oh how you wanted- want- to rip every fang from his head.

But no, even he had spurned your black advances. It seemed like there was not a troll you knew that you had not attempted to either kill or quadrant. The worst part was the fact you could not even keep the few quadrantmates you had been lucky enough to find. First you had 'grown too boring' for Vriska. Then you had tired out Feferi with your constant neediness and genocidal tendencies. About the only one that even bothered to occasionally check up on you was Karkat, and once Gamzee when he was passing through on one of his many attempts to locate his lusus. Actually, now that you think about it, the loud, foulmouthed excuse of a troll had not contacted you in a couple of weeks.

Storms always put you slightly more on edge than usual, but you could tell that this one is an actual hurricane. Unable to stand moping around any longer, you gather up your cape around you and begin to pace the deck of _The Orphaner_. The bright flashes of lightning are really messing with your vision; in the distance you swear you can see a ship. You pause briefly and stare intently at the vague shape. No, that still really looks like a ship. You wonder who on the planet is retarded enough to attempt to sail through a squall so vicious. You would bet a whole chest full of treasure that it is probably some purpleblood who got it into his head he was close enough to being a seatroll that he could be all nautical and stuff.

You would almost say that it is heading straight for the jagged rocks that are a part of the mountain range your home lays beached upon. In fact, that looks exactly like what it is doing. An explosion of curses rip from your mouth as you sprint towards the edge of the deck and jump. The blasted fool was going to drown himself out there practically on your doorstep and waste a perfectly seaworthy vessel, as well as any supplies on board. Even if you cannot make it to him before he dashes the damn thing up on the rocks, you can at least take all the good loot before it is swept away by the riptides (or worse, plucked by one of your rivals to be used against you).

In the water, you move more clumsily than you would like. You spend most of your time topside, keeping an eye on the landdwellers and hunting lusii. Or at least you did. These nights you mostly just sit on the deck and stare at the stars, thinking about the way things could have been. Still, you are closing in on the ship (rather larger than you had first assumed), when something goes spiraling right by you. You immediately twist around and slow to see what it was, because your initial impression had been that of a body.

Oh fuck it is a body.

Before you have even consciously made a decision, you are darting after the smaller troll. It had to be a teenage landdweller, judging from the size- not nearly large and sturdy enough to take a beating from the rocks. By the time you catch up, it had bounced off two different boulders and stopped flailing completely. Despite the nagging feeling that you were bringing back a corpse, you tuck it under one arm and swim back to the hive. You throw it over your shoulder once you reach the rope ladder and scramble up to the nearest porthole. Oh man, you completely forgot about the lusus. Hopefully it is still on board or at least better able to swim.

It is not until you get the boy laid out on the plank floor that you discover something strange. He... has no horns to see. In fact, now that he is in the more neutral light of your lamps, he does not even look gray. No time to think about that; he's not even breathing. You scramble to compress his chest, trying to remember if that is what you even do when a lung-breather needs to get water out of their airsacs. After a few excruciatingly long minutes, he chokes up some water and his eyes flutter open. Huh, a blueblood. You would not have guessed it. Wait. Non-gray skin. No horns. You run your clawtips through his hair just to be sure. Nope. There are not even stumps from where they could have broken off.

Then it hits you. Literally. A small, weak fist collides with your jaw. Before you even have time to react, the boy is passing out again. You did not save a troll at all. This is a human. Your mind skitters for a moment. Shit. There would be no lusus to go back for, but there would be many more bodies. You had heard that humans always travel in packs. _Shit_! The teenager's injuries would have to wait. You yell for Imperious, making sure to snag the reins and saddle that have not been used in weeks. No time to question. You had to _move_.

Your lusus heard the urgency in your voice and appears outside the porthole immediately. He gives you no trouble when you equip the tack and hop on, directing him back towards the ship. You have to move quickly or there will not be any other survivors- of that you are certain. During a storm the rocks are more deadly than any beast. All you can do is hope that you will not be too late.

* * * * *

You come to consciousness exhaling bursts of water and trying to inhale air at the same time. Even though that works about as well as could be expected, you manage to focus on the face hovering above you. It has gold and violet eyes. It has a strange death-like pallor. And jagged shark-like teeth. Holy shit you are about to be devoured by a mermaid. You attempt to slug it even as you feel the intense cold sapping away what little second wind you had regained. Passing out is likely preferable to the alternative of being eaten alive anyway, so you go with little resistance.

* * * * *

You return to your hive some time later with a heavy heart. Of the five humans you are bringing back, only two of them are still breathing (and likely not for long). Their injuries are extensive, and you have very little practical experiences with doctoring other than simple stitches and some salve. One of them is missing a good portion of his arm, and although you tied your very own leather belt around the bleeding stump, you are pretty sure he is going to die from blood loss. The other has a nasty looking head injury and keeps groaning even through his stupor.

Somehow this makes you very worried about the younger human already in your hive. You had only glanced over his injuries and deemed nothing was life-threatening, but now you doubt yourself. It is with no small amount of relief that you find him still lying on the floor and breathing. Then you decide to leave him be for the moment, instead choosing to try and mend the more wounded members. By the time you finish with them, you are about ready to drop and covered in slick blood. Still, you have one more human to look after before your night is through.

The blood is probably the reason that he tries to hit you again. Somehow he had managed to drag himself over to the wall to prop up against, but the smear of wetness on the planks suggests that he is more wounded than you originally thought. You try not to hold the wild swing against him. He is injured and in unknown territory, after all. Nevertheless, you make sure to pin him and bind his wrists together before even attempting to look into his injuries. Well, shit. Just a few gashes here and there that needed to be stitched up, and possibly a broken arm from the way it was slightly bent along the middle. You could totally make a splint that would work well enough.

However, the first thing you were going to do was get some pain meds and a relaxant crammed down his throat. Although he kind of chews on your hand a bit, you chalk that up to adrenaline and those large, oddly-blunt teeth (he probably cannot even help it). Then you work on disinfecting the wounds with the alcohol you are not technically supposed to have, holding the boy down when he attempts to kick you in the shin. Okay, maybe he is just a bit of a scrapper and did not realize that you are trying to help. The other two were too much in shock to do much but blubber. After a little while he begins to calm down, eyes drooping with drowsiness even as you play medicutioner.

With the splint on, the last thing you need to do is find him a place to sleep. You had never really taken into account visitors when designing your decor, and thus only owned one recuperacoon. You wonder if humans even sleep in coons. The others you had left in the medbay on the hammocks, but there were no more of those lying about. In the end you make a pile of colorful throw pillows and blankets, trying not to feel guilty about where some of the pillows had been pilfered from. It is not like your concupiscent couch had ever been used before. Besides, there was little else soft enough to make a sleeping nest (and no, your clothes are not going to be sullied in such a manner). You are sure that he would not mind.

In fact, he is completely passed out by the time you have everything ready. Perhaps you had been a bit heavy on the sedatives. Regardless of the reason, you think that the rest will be good for him. Gods only know how much you are itching for a nice bath and a bit of shuteye yourself. You settle the teenager on his pile and release his bonds before making your way to your own quarters. You will worry about the consequences of your actions tomorrow.

* * * * *

You awake with a fuzzy, aching head and little idea of what happened. It slowly comes to you in bits and pieces- the ship, the storm, the drowning... and then the rescue. Groaning, you roll over and assess the situation as best you can. You appear to be on another ship, although this one is thankfully not tossing about in a tempest. Whoever (or whatever) had stitched you up last night had apparently left you on a random assortment of bedding and gone on its way. You are trying to remember what your rescuer looked like exactly when a noise catches your attention. It sounds like someone calling for help.

Despite the pulling of the stitches, you are up in a trice and hobbling your way down a corridor towards the voice. Oh how you could feel the bruises forming even through the funk of whatever herbs you had been given. Taking a swim during a hurricane is definitely now on your list of least favorite things to do. Right next to picking a fight with your sister and taking on one of those giant goat-fish things. You reach the room where the noise is coming from and pause in faint befuddlement. It looks like a medical bay.

"John?" a hoarse voice croaks. "Is- is that you?"

You locate the sailor speaking in one of the hammocks, "Brooks? Hey, are you alri- oh my God. Your arm." You do not mean to let the horror show on your face, but the strong man you had seen lifting full barrels of mead is now pale as snow and trembling with exertion. Also he had been in possession of all his limbs the last time you had seen him.

"Nn- not mm- wa-water," his face contorts.

"R-right away, sir!" you scramble, practically tripping over your feet. Water. Freshwater. Where would freshwater be? You are surrounded by water but there is not a drop to drink. You know there has to be barrels of rainwater somewhere for the crew of this vessel. There appears to only be gauze and salves and herbs nearby. You hurry out of the door and immediately collide with someone's chest. You sputter out an apology and try to back up, but a hand grabs onto your shoulder and stills you.

You look up and all thought comes crashing down around you. Gray skin. Violet on gold eyes. Shark teeth and face fins. And fucking _horns_. You had not seen a mermaid at all, but rather a troll. Somewhere in your mind an errant thought reminds you that some trolls were ocean dwellers and had gills and stuff. Yet the thing that is causing you the most concern is the apparent truth in tales of trolls' impressive size. (You probably only come up to his armpit.) The expression on his face is not helping to calm your frayed nerves, but you strike forward regardless.

"Um, hello there," you start off brilliantly. "I, uh, guess that you were one of the ones who saved us from the storm, so I thank you for that. Oh! Do you have water? Brooks, he is asking-" A harsh grumble and an annoyed exhalation clams you up better than an entire angry tirade ever could. Then the troll attempts to talk to you and you know exactly what the problem is- neither of you can understand the other.

"Wait," you hold up your uninjured hand between the two of you. "I didn't catch any of that. Water? Waaahterrr. No? Uh, drink?" You pantomime lifting a cup to your lips and you get a spark of recognition from those strange eyes. He presses down briefly on your shoulder as if to root you in place before turning back around. Awesome. It looks like at least some non-verbal cues would translate over well enough. You wait back in the medical bay by Brooks, promising that the water will be here soon. After a few minutes when nothing has happened, you edge over to the other hammock. You quickly wish you had not.

Although the blood-soaked bandages around his head suggests that Murdock had been alive when he arrived, the filmy eyes point to him dying during the night. You never did like dealing with death, whether it was hunting on your island or the glimpses of people after accidents or battles. This, however, is much worse. You actually knew Murdock, so to see him so lifeless... it makes your stomach churn in a way that makes you glad you had not had anything to eat recently. You wonder if the sailor was a religious man and if you should say a few words or something. It seems hollow and meaningless to do so now, though, so you simply reach out a hand and close his eyelids. There. At least now he looked a little more...decent.

* * * * *

"Fuck," you sigh. "Wwait, I guess that means you can't understand anythin I say either, right?"

You pause for a beat and the boy is already holding a hand up to halt you, a rather confused expression on his face. He tries to talk to you again, but it is just as useless as his first attempt. Then, however, he finally makes a motion with a word. It looks like he is holding some sort of invisible cup or bowl up to his mouth. He is asking for a drink, you suppose. Oh, right! Landdwellers need freshwater more than you would. You pat his shoulder and try to communicate that you want him to stay right there before whirling around. You think there should be a rain barrel in one of the nearby alcoves to catch drips from one of the many leaks you have not gotten around to patching.

It takes you a few minutes to wiggle the damn thing out of the corner and heft it up without sloshing out most of the contents. From there it is a quick trip back to the recovery room, where you find the boy standing over the man with the wounded head- or rather, the body of the man with the wounded head. You instantly regret going to your coon for a few hours, since that meant that the human died sometime while you were sound asleep. Something about dying alone in a shipwreck just seems rather morose. As you watch, the teenager moves a hand towards the sailor. While you expect him to perhaps loot the body or dole out vengeance for some past misdeed, he simply pulls down the man's eyelids so that he looks almost like he is sleeping.

Huh. Well. You certainly would not have guessed that action. It somehow seemed sentimental, even though the boy is not acting like he has lost a quadrantmate. Perhaps there is just some sort of kinship between humans in the same traveling pack, like some of your less well-known peers. You would not exactly greatly grieve their passing (such as you would with Feferi, quadranted or not), but you would definitely at least attempt to give them proper deathrites. As soon as you realize that you are standing around with a heavy barrel being a creep, you clear your throat and set it down with a loud thump.

He jumps a bit at the noise but otherwise does not seem to mind your interruption. In fact, he is much more interested in locating the nearest mug and filling it with water. After a few hasty gulps, he is bustling over to the human with the missing arm and murmuring to him. He helps the man lean forward to drink, something almost clinical about the action despite the obvious pale implications. Perhaps this is some sort of human thing; you make a mental note to go check your books for any information you can find on human culture. You remember reading several tomes that included their war history and exploits, but that was not really applicable to one-on-one interactions.

Then the older man is turning as white as parchment, gripping the boy's shoulder tightly as he stares at you with wide eyes. He begins blubbering again into the teenager's ear, managing to sound both terrified and disgusted at the same time. You really are starting to regret your decision to look for more survivors. The boy is frowning heavily as he listens, and eventually pushes the man away. Viper quick, he glances at you and then back to his companion, quickly hissing out a retort of some kind in a more reasonable volume. This back and forth goes on for a few moments. Just as you wonder if you should leave the room to give them some privacy, their conversation ends abruptly. The younger human snaps out one last remark before swiftly leaving the room. You spend about two seconds debating what to do, but you cannot just let some small person run around your hive unattended. You have rifles and treasure and halfway-completed doomsday devices everywhere- not exactly perfect for wandering guests.

However, there was not much reason for you to worry. The boy (you really should figure out a name or something for him) had come to a stop a few rooms down and, for some reason, begun gesturing wildly and snarling to himself. With one particularly vicious sweep of his arms, he suddenly flinches and pulls his injured limb back towards his body and (you assume) swears violently. As soon as he notices you, he changes his posture completely. His face darkens a bit and he mumbles at you while averting his gaze. You blink a few times at him. It... reminded you a lot of a younger Karkat, back when he used to get embarrassed about his rants.

In fact, that is probably what the kid was doing- simply venting and letting off some steam. You probably gave him a bit of a startle when you walked in on him acting like a child. It is kind of cute. You hold up your empty hands (palms upward in the truce position) hesitantly smile at him in what you hope is a non-threatening way. Showing fangs can be considered an aggressive gesture in some cultures, after all. Even though his eyes immediately snap to your sharp teeth, he breaks off the stare to search your face and then sheepishly returns the gesture.

* * * * *

"John! You let that demon in here? Don't you know that trolls are dangerous, foul creatures?" Brooks is almost shouting directly in your ear. "Look at those fangs! He's likely to skin us alive and eat us the moment his larder runs low! What were you thinking, boy? I mean, look what happened to Murdock-" You shove him away and back down into the hammock before glancing over at the troll, hoping that the outburst is not perturbing him. He appears calm, if vaguely interested in the proceedings, so you turn back to the sailor.

"Calm yourself, man," you hiss. "He is the one that dragged us out of the water in the first place!"

"Of course you would side with the monster," he snarls. "You and your crazy family living on Hellmurder Island with those awful white beasts."

"He is a troll," you argue. "They are just different- not monsters. And if you persist with insulting our host right in front of him I will not stay my hand."

"Looks like no matter how long you are among civilized folk, you will always be a wild feral," sneers the man. You see red and only manage to keep from throttling him by considering how it might look to your rescuer. After all, he had gone through a lot of trouble to save both of you.

"Well then, it is surely a sad day when a _feral_ has more manners than these so-called civilized folk," you snap, whirling around on your heel and refraining (just barely) from stomping into the corridor. You go down as far as you can hold in your anger before ducking into a room and swinging your arms like a windmill, growling to yourself.

"Ignorant, uneducated, small-minded, dastardly Goddamn son of a swine! A feral? Who does he think he is fooling? A real feral would have crushed his thick skull upon finding him so injured. And then probably eaten his entrails or something! If Jade were here she would have knocked his block off for even suggesting such a thing! Grandpa would have beaten him down verbally until he cried for mercy! A feral! As if the blood flowing through him is any more pure than- OW!" you suddenly greatly regret swinging your arms around so wildly. "Goshdarned blinking blimey motherfucker! That bloody well- oh."

The troll is standing in the doorway looking at you quizzically, so you continue at a more moderate tone, "Uh, sorry about that. I was just... sort of trying not to punch somebody's face into their skull. With a large hammer. Because that's my specibus. Besides the bunny thing but I think that was one of Jade's joke cards or something. I will shut up now." When you glance back at him, he is holding up his hands and smiling at you. Besides the brief pause those wicked fangs give you, it seems to be a friendly enough gesture. You tentatively smile back at him, because that seems like the thing to do in a situation like this.

He appears to brighten at that, his smile growing larger. Then he quickly returns to being taciturn, gesturing for you to follow him. You sidle over carefully and he turns, cape flapping behind him. (Who even wore capes?) You follow him out of the...you are not even sure where you had gone. You glance around and realize that you are in some sort of armory with weapons stashed about in piles. No wonder the troll wanted you to go elsewhere. After a few twists and turns in the maze-like below decks, you notice that he has led you back to the room where you had woken up.

When you look at him questioningly, he simply points to the pile of bedding and sweeps back out of the room. Seeing no other alternative in the bare area, you settle down in a less lumpy spot. You sit and wait for the troll to hopefully return. And wait. And wait. Unable to battle the exhaustion, you begin to doze. You see your sister as a witch of the wilds, creating potions and conjuring items from thin air. You fly through skies as part of the breeze, feeling the breath of every creature. Worlds of glowing plants and frogs and snow dance and shimmer before you. Then a sudden noise interrupts your fanciful visions.

The troll is back. On the ground near you sits a tray with a bowl of what looks to be cooked fish and a random assortment of greens, a large tankard full of water, and a cloth napkin. The clatter of the metal tray is probably what woke you from your dreams. Something is held out to you, gingerly pinched between two claws and held almost as far away as possible. You take the small satchel with some trepidation, opening it to find herbs. Right. This would be whatever it was he gave you when he was trying to patch you up. You think you bit him. More than once. (To be fair, he had tied your wrists together and you had been rather disoriented.) Obviously he was wary about attempting to force-feed you medicine again.

He stands there for a moment, neither of you really making any moves. After a while he makes a frustrated noise and points to the satchel before pulling his palm up towards his mouth. With a sigh, you dump the contents into your own maw and try to chew as little as possible. Making a face at the bitter taste, you reach for the water to wash down the plant debris. You wonder how could anything so foul tasting be good for a person. When you turn back to your host, you catch him trying to hide a prominent smirk. You glare at him (no it is not pouting as long as your bottom lip stays in place) and he laughs at you outright. With a pushing down motion of his hand, he leaves again and shuts the door behind him.

Alright. Stay here in what you guess is now your room. He gave you breakfast (dinner? It is so hard to tell time when most the portholes are either missing or boarded up.) and some more medicine, so at least that was thoughtful of him. You pick at the food for a moment before deciding that you were too tired to even eat. Instead, you lie down and pull one of the many violet (boy did this guy/the crew like this shade) blankets over yourself. You are lucky your left arm had been broken and not your right; it is bad enough trying to do things with your non-dominant arm injured. In a matter of minutes, you are returning to your strange lands and impossible situations.


	2. Chapter 2

You have spent most of the day reading, and you are finally coming to the conclusion that the resources you own are not sufficient for your needs. The most you can patch together about human culture is inferred from what little contact your two species have had in battles past. They are tenacious fighters that do not know when to quit, work best in small groups or when given a clear leader, and are prone to thinking outside of the box when coming up against new obstacles. Honestly you do not see much use in this kind of data unless your two injured humans somehow summon a platoon of warriors. You consider this highly unlikely but decide to resort to one of your doomsday devices if it looks like you will be overwhelmed.

What little other information you know is the sort of grapevine gossip- a friend of a quadrantmate of a peer saw a human once- kind of thing. You know that humans are smaller than highbloods, ranging from rust to olive in size. You know that they have non-gray skin and sometimes non-black hair as well; they also have no horns. You know that they are social creatures that travel in groups and, stranger, the adults raise their young. Someone once told you that humans had weird colored eyes, but you are not quite sure you believe that. After all, the ones you have dealt with have brown, olive, and blue. They do surprisingly all have the same bright red blood (you had thought that one was just a weird myth).

The problem is that none of this information really helps you. What you need is some sort of human etiquette manual or something. Unfortunately, there is only one troll you can think of who might be able to help you, and she kind of hates you in the completely platonic way. Still, you send off a quick note requesting some books with a courier pigeon before you check in on the injured humans. You also send a cuttlefish to Feferi asking for advice, but you are not going to hold your breath for a reply. Firstly you had doubts about the mollusk's ability to actually deliver the bottled message, and secondly Feferi may simply destroy any notes from you without reading them. The two of you have mostly avoided each other since the breakup. Still, as the Heiress, she might have something to say about you rescuing humans from the seas.

You watch the cuttlefish swim away, sighing deeply to yourself. Then you give yourself a mental slap. You have wounded to attend to- this is no time for moping. Although you would much rather check up on the semi-agreeable younger human, you have a feeling that the older one is in a worse way. If his wound is still weeping, you might attempt to cauterize it. The thought of having to do that makes you feel queasy, but it might be the only way to simultaneously stop the bleeding and sterilize the wound. As you approach the small medical bay, you wonder absentmindedly when you had shut the door. Then you ram your snout into the heavy wooden thing and realize that it is barred from the inside; there is no way you could have done that.

Well.... that certainly is not a good sign. You rap on the door and wait a moment. The only response is some shuffling on the other side. It sounds a lot like someone getting in position by the door to clock you if you broke it down. Definitely not good. You pause and try to recollect if there is anything dangerous in the medical bay that could be used as a weapon. Some surgical knives you really had never used are in one of the drawers. Some of the supplies in there could be used to make caustic substances if the human knew how to combine them properly. You really, really do not feel up to getting stabbed or having acid thrown at you. Luckily you happen to have a fairly good idea of a way to get the human to open the door.

* * * * *

"Five more minutes," you grumble, trying to burrow further into your blanket. It had to be way too early for the cook to be waking you up to help bake the day's bread. If this is another set up for a prank, you are going to hide boiled eggs around the sailors' hammocks and they will have to sleep with the smell of rotten eggs for _weeks_. When the comfortable warmth of the blanket is torn from your grasp, you finally give way and sit up.

"I'm up, I'm awake, I'm gonna kick your- oh," you peer at the troll through bleary eyes. "What's going on?"

For a moment he just looks at you, as if waiting for you to do... something. The expression on his face is a mixture of apprehension and determination, the set to his jaw is stiff. After realizing you are not doing anything at all, he motions imperiously for you to follow him and heads out the door, so you lurch upward and rub the grit from your eyes. Down the corridor you can see him taking a turn, stupid cape swishing behind him. Trotting to catch up, you are somewhat perplexed that he seems to be leading you back to the recovery room. He did indeed lead you there. You glance up at him questioningly, and he simply points at the door. You try the handle to find that it will not budge. That is odd.

You frown and bang on the door a few times, "Brooks?"

You hear a strange shuffling and then he replies, "Go away, John! I am not opening the door for that demon _or_ you!"

You groan, "Ugh! For the last time, he is a troll! He is even trying to help. What are you even going to do in there? Board yourself in until you run out of food?"

"None of your business!" he snarls. "I will not be swayed by your words, _feral_. You saw what he did to Murdock and yet you still take his side."

"There are no sides!" you are quickly losing your patience. "Murdock was hurt in the wreck! All this guy did was try to bandage his wounds. I don't understand why you are being so difficult."

"There are always sides," he yells through the door. "I'm sorry, John, but if it comes to a fight, we both know which one you would choose."

"What fight?" you explode. "There is no fight! There will be no fight! You are being completely ridiculous!"

"I will do my best to spare you, John, but there are no promises in war," comes the ominous reply. "God will surely damn your soul for siding with the unholy creature."

"You idiot!" your voice raises with exasperation. "Get your arse out of that damn room so we can change your bandages and make sure the rot hasn't set in!" There is a loud crash and a thump, followed by silence. You wait for a few moments. Then you begin to worry, "Brooks?" Still no reply. "Hey, Brooks, are you okay? Seriously just yell at me or something."

You pause and wait, the worry increasing as more time goes by. He could be injured. He did have severe blood loss and a serious injury, so maybe he fainted (or worse). "Brooks?!" you do not even register the pop of your strife specibus until you feel the heavy handle of your hammer in your hand. "Answer me or I swear I will knock this door off of its hinges!" It is awkward to hold your over-sized weapon with one hand, but you were not going to risk messing up your injured arm further.

Just as you are hefting it over your shoulder to strike at the door, the weapon is being pulled out from your hands. You yelp and attempt to hold on, but with only one usable arm it is no contest. Somehow you end up on your ass, staring up at the troll with your hammer in his claws. He looks decidedly unhappy about the turn of events. He snarls at you, throwing the weapon down the hall where it bounces a few times with audible thumps. That certainly is intimidating. At that exact moment, the door suddenly flies open. Brooks is pale faced and wild eyed as he charges into the narrow space, tackling the troll. They both go down and something glints in the dim light. The troll hisses and the two of them roll briefly.

You come to your senses, "Brooks!" Scrambling to your feet, you pull at his shoulder to get him off your host and he swiftly turns. A stinging line of fire rips through your face from nose to ear. A knife of some kind. The wound does not feel too deep, but the sharp pain has you leaning back out of range anyway. Dear Gods are his eyes wide and wild. Brooks must have fallen into the fever sickness- convinced his paranoia is truth and this is the only way to ensure his survival. With a sudden gray blur, the man is flying over your head and then skidding down the hall. You are pulled up to your feet and shoved roughly in the other direction; the troll bares his teeth at the sailor, but he is already bolting through the doorway again.

You hear the sound of the locks sliding shut and hiss out a string of curses. For a man who showed such a hatred for ferals, he is certainly starting to act like one. Gosh your face feels like it is on fire. Something drips onto your shoulder and you attempt to brush it off only to find that it is sticky and red. Oh. Damn he got you good. You are distracted from your pity party when the troll suddenly slumps over against the wall. You get yourself under one of his arms to help support his weight and start to lead him back towards your room. All you could think of is to find a safe place (well, safer than the hallway next to the insane man) so you can take care of injuries and rest.

* * * * *

"Fuck!" you grimace as the boy stoops to grab up his hammer and return it to his strife specibus. You did not even know that humans had that kind of technology; perhaps they had acquired it from your race at some point. Briefly, you wonder if he also has a sylladex and what his fetch modus may be. Actually, you wonder why you are leaning against a wall with wobbly legs, watching as he tucks himself back under your arm. Oh, right. You have been stabbed. Several times. You give the kid props for knowing that a tactical retreat is a better option than waiting out the crazy adult.

However, he is leading you back to the room you had left him in earlier. You know for a fact that particular room had no locks and a rather flimsy door. With a grunt, you shake your head and lean your body weight into him, forcing him to turn down a different corridor. He shouts a bit before realizing what you are doing, but then he follows your directions more easily. The recovery block is out of the question for the foreseeable future; luckily you have some emergency supplies in your personal quarters. It is not much- probably just enough to patch the both of you up and give you a couple nights to regroup. (Or get drunk, if you really had a mind to.)

Each step is quickly becoming more challenging than the last. As you pant, you feel the solid pressure of his good arm wrapped around your waist, helping you remain upright. You can sense the heat emanating off of the human; they must burn hotter than even most of the lowbloods. You suddenly realize that you must outweigh him by nearly double and appreciate his determination to not leave you behind. Maybe he is simply trying to repay you for saving his life. Maybe he had already adopted you as part of his new pack. The thought almost makes you want to laugh.

It is only through sheer determination (and considering the fact you would crush the boy) that you make it to your resting block more or less upright and able. You gratefully sink down into an armchair and gesture towards the door. With a curt nod and a face as serious as a soldier's, he wrestles the heavy thing shut and slams the bar in place. When he glances back at you, you point at the medical supply box. Then you proceed to watch him slowly become more and more frustrated that he could not open it or remove it from the wall. Oh shit he is about to put a hole in your wall. You make a mental note to take away his strife specibus until he learns better manners or stops acting like a giant fucking mallet will solve all of his problems.

"No, no, no!" you snap. "You turn it, you dolt! Oh for the lovve of-! Twwist it sidewways. Like this." You hold both hands in front of you as if gripping the wheel of a ship. Then you turn them as if attempting to bank left. He blinks at you, frowns, and then turns back to the box. Using one hand, he grabs a corner and struggles to turn it. Brilliant, you are. Damn kid only has one usable upper limb and has a body made of twigs. You might as well get up and get the stupid receptacle yourse- never mind. You have to admit that your eyebrows are significantly higher when he turns around with the box firmly grasped in one hand. Apparently swinging that idiotic hammer around had at least given him a little upper body strength.

He trots over and you have to resist the impulse to laugh at his urgency. You are not injured that badly, after all. Simply going a little woozy from having your sense of balance knocked right out of you. And blood loss. Cannot forget the blood loss. Being stabbed is absolutely no fun at all. Why were you thinking of laughing? Right. Open the box with your key. You get out a bottle of alcohol, a spool of heavy thread, and a couple needles. This is really going to hurt. Suddenly something is being held in front of you and you have to squint at it for a moment before you can figure out it is the satchel you gave the boy earlier. Peering inside, you see that there are still some herbs left uneaten.

"You little shit," you glare at him as he suddenly starts rubbing the back of his neck. "You wwere supposed to eat all a this. Wwell, okay, maybe I gavve you a bit much. You wwere pretty passed out earlier. Still. Bad...human. Ugh. You need a name."

He blinks at you for a moment, obviously waiting. When you frown at him (unsure how else to make your annoyance known), he suddenly grins. He points to the satchel and then scoops his hand up towards his mouth. That cheeky brat! Grumbling to yourself, you choke down the herbs and the remains of your dignity. He does not spare your pride, laughing shamelessly at your expression. However, his mirth soon disappears when you peel off your upper layers of clothing to reveal several narrow, deep wounds leaking violet blood. Uttering some sort of exclamation, he fumbles the alcohol bottle open and tears off a corner of his crusty shirt. Wow is he dirty! You really had not been paying attention before, but now that he is up close you can see his clothes are stiff with salt and he has some welts appearing where they rub his skin. You feel suddenly guilty about not thinking of giving him access to a bathtub and some fresh clothing.

Then you feel nothing but blinding pain as he uses the alcohol-sodden rag to clean out the first of the wounds. Salt and alcohol make a particularly evil combination, you decide. Despite being tempted to rip out his jugular, you simply grit your teeth and sink your claws into the arms of your chair. He murmurs what you are going to assume is an apology, yet does nothing to halt his work. Honestly you could have taken care of these wounds yourself (and you had stitched yourself up plenty of times before), but... for some reason you are kind of glad to have someone around to sort of help take care of you. Besides, you had done the same for him only a couple of nights ago.

By the time he has the needle threaded (his hands were trembling so badly that this took a few tries), you are beginning to feel that nice, sort of boneless sensation that means the medicinal herbs are starting to work their magic. (This is just a phrase, since everyone knows that magic is totally fake.) You open the eyes you never remembered squeezing shut and watch as he begins to sew up the first wound. Okay, he is actually doing a pretty good job. The stitches are at least neat and evenly spaced apart. The way he is chewing on his bottom lip suggests that he is rather unused to dealing with serious injuries himself. You kind of wish you had some way to let him know he was doing a good job. Instead, you close your eyes again and concentrate on not clawing his face off when the thread tugs.

* * * * *

You are doing your best not to stare at the... you suppose they must be gillslits. They are violet slashes under the troll's ribs that appear capable of widening, and you cannot really guess what else they could be. Anyway, they are definitely not wounds. At some point, he had fallen asleep while you patched him up, and you do not have the heart to wake him. This does not excuse you being a creep and watching him breathe (wondering if he ever mistakenly uses his gills instead of his lungs when not in the water), yet you seem incapable of stopping. There is a sort of couch in the room, albeit one seemingly stripped of all of its pillows and blankets- probably donated to your own sleeping arrangement. You wonder if you should try to move him so he could lie down. Then again, he is quite a bit bigger than you and you are pretty sure that would not end well.

In the end, you simply throw a blanket over him and huddle down on the floor by the entrance. If Brooks decides to seek the two of you out, you wanted to be the first one he came across. At least it is fairly likely that he did not want to kill you; after all, he simply cut at you when you intervened. Sore and exhausted, you grumble to yourself for a few minutes until you give up on finding a more comfortable way to lie. Then you just sort of doze for a bit. Every now and then you wake when something begins to ache and you have to shift, but mostly it is just more of your bizarre dreams.

After awhile you give up on sleep and explore the room. Everything seems really big and ostentatious to you, intricately carved and upholstered and gold-leafed and oozing wealth. As you poke around the writing desk made out of wood so dark it appeared black, you wonder if there even _are_ more crew members. Despite the huge size of the vessel, the only troll you have come across has been your host. You suppose, due to their amphibious nature, they could be in the water. Somehow you doubt that. When you knock over a bottle of ink, you hurry to right it and glance over your shoulder. The troll has not moved an inch; he must be a heavy sleeper. You are sure the herbs are probably helping.

Bored and not relishing the idea of lying down on the ground trying to sleep, you snag the leftover paper on the top of the desk, along with a couple bottles of ink and some quills. Thus armed, you return to your spot by the door and sit down to doodle. You, of course, start with a little poorly-drawn you, complete with goofy teeth and blue eyes (not quite the right shade, but colored inks are hard enough to come across in the first place). Then you add in a little Jade holding your hand, because you miss your green-eyed twin. A vaguely dog-shaped outline for Bec is on her other side. Even further is Grandpa Harley. Then you do a background of tall trees and pumpkins and a few empty spans of white for the monsters.

After finishing the first picture, you set it aside to dry and begin another. You scribble yourself leaving on a sail boat, your island tiny and green in the distance. Then there is one of you working at the bakery with your master. Then you decide to get serious and try to actually draw something. You work much better with charcoal, but the quills are thin enough for you to do precise lines. You sketch out a detailed bust of your sister with Becquerel. Then one of Grandpa Harley and the baker. Less detailed are the ones of the sailors you remember. Murdock is even there, right next to Jones. Eventually you get tired of this because you did not actually know the men that well.

So, being the rational person you are, you turn to stare at the troll again. In sleep, with all of his features peaceful, he actually is as still as a statue. You find a clear sheet of paper and start another sketch. Although it is likely rude to think so, you find the troll's unique features oddly refreshing to draw as they forced you to transcribe what you saw as accurately as possible instead of relying on just knowing how the lines should flow. Before you realize it, you have done several angles of his head and face, completely using up the remainder of your paper. You could go searching in his drawers for more, but that seems like a much worse invasion of privacy. Instead, you neatly line up all the drawings to dry and then curl back up on the floor. The ship is still quiet and unnaturally still; you fall into a restless sleep within moments.

* * * * *

You wake to the jarring sound of the rusty hinges on your door squeaking. You distinctly remember the door being barred when you went to sleep. In fact, the door is always barred when you are asleep. One too many hive invasions by angry orphaned trolls seeking revenge taught you that. Yet when you open your eyes, your door frame is empty of everything but a crazy human silently eyeing you. He realizes you are awake about the same time you see the knife in his hand. You scramble to empty whatever weapon is in your strife specibus and he lunges forward.

Then out of nowhere, you see the boy rise up from the ground and headbutt the older human right in the gut. With the added momentum, the man flips right over the younger one and goes crashing to the floor face first. You, of course, are now armed with a musket and tangled on the floor with a blanket. With a pop, that stupid hammer is back in action, this time taking on an actual opponent instead of your hive. The surgical knife goes flying to stick into your wall, and the man screams. They grapple for a moment, and your bloodpusher begins to beat erratically. Your human is much too small to take on a guy that size. He was too short and too thin and too young and basically too everything. It was like watching a rustblood trying to take on a greenie in a fistfight.

They separate when the man loses his grip on the hammer and the boy goes stumbling back. While they circle each other warily and talk, you busily get your ensnared legs free. When he goes for the kid again, he is quick to duck under the hammer and ram his shoulder into one of those blue eyes. The smaller human drops like a sack of root vegetables, a pained wheeze emanating from his mouth. You put the barrel of the musket right between the man's shoulder blades and give a fierce growl. Instead of freezing like a normal being would, the human swerves around yelling at the top of his lungs and grabs at the gun. The two of you struggle over the weapon.

Then there is a deafening bang.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

After you lose what little food you still had in you, you survey the damage again. The headless body of the man is slumped where it fell, and you have no intentions of moving it anytime soon. You had cleaned your face well enough with your now ruined shirt (one of your favorites, too), and the splatters on the floor and wall are ignorable. In fact, you realize what a great idea that is when you notice that the younger human is still prone on the planks.

Not wanting to get attacked, you prod him gently with your boot. He groans and makes a series of grumbles, still staring blankly at the ceiling. You prod him again and his fingers twitch against the floorboards. Then all of the sudden he is curling onto his side, hands raised to his injured eye. That crack when they connected _had_ sounded pretty bad. Perhaps he had literally been knocked unconscious from the collision. You suddenly decide that you do not want him to see the body. Even if the man had been crazy, the human pack is an unknown bond to you- there might be some sort of drama.

First thing is first, more herbs. You scoop up the boy and carry him right out the door and down the hall. You walk all the way to the nutrition block and proceed to set him down on the counter. He curls up into a ball still cradling his head as you rummage through the cabinets to get the medicinal plants. After making sure he swallows a fair amount, you munch on the leftover sprigs yourself. You are going to be running low until you can make another supply run to the land. Sometimes being on a shipwrecked vessel is a pain.

After deciding that food sounds like an awful idea, you scoop him back up and head towards the ablution chamber. It amazes you how easily it is to tuck him up under one arm and carry on like it is a normal night for you. You fill the tub with warm water, making it unbearably hot for you- which should be about right for him. You mentally praise your heating contraption under your water tank upstairs for actually working much better than you thought it would. At this point, you dump the boy in the water fully clothed and leave him to his own devices. You have to go find some old outfits of yours that might fit him.

* * * * *

Everything hurts. Besides the fact that you continue to see bright sparkles and strange, colorful globules in your injured eye, every ache and pain in your body are making sure that you are fully aware of how stupid you are being. When you had been unceremoniously dropped in the bathtub, you had a momentary freak out; thinking that you were being tossed overboard is perfectly logical when you consider how much trouble you have caused the troll. But as soon as you had realized that he had left to places unknown, you had carefully stripped your salt-crusted clothes and scrubbed them clean. Then you had gingerly cleaned yourself, careful to avoid as many of your wounds as possible.

Now you are reclined against the lip of the huge tub, reluctant to get out of the lukewarm water. The herbs are beginning to kick in, leaving you less and less capable of even attempting to do such a thing anyway. When the door opens again, you look up to see the troll standing in the threshold uncertainly. In his hands are some neatly folded clothes. You know that from that angle he cannot see anything from your chest down, but he manages to blush purple anyway (and isn't that an odd thing to see). He sets the clothes down and backs out of the room immediately, quickly closing the door behind him. Huh. That was... really thoughtful of him.

You sluggishly pull on the blue-striped pants and black shirt, frowning at how baggy they are on your frame. One of these days, you swear you will fill out into a more respectable size. When there is a knock at the door, you remember that your host is likely waiting right outside the door for you. You hurry to open it and find him staring down at you with a peculiar expression on his face. When he holds his hand out, you take it without hesitation, trusting him to lead you to where you need to go.

* * * * *

You had returned with an old set of clothes from a few sweeps ago when it happened. You walked in on the boy in the tub, naked as the day he pupated and vulnerable as a grub. Instead of snarling or shouting, he simply lolled his head over and waited for you to do something, eyes as trusting as a newborn fawn. With his splinted arm hanging over the edge and rapidly bruising face, you could see almost all of his more serious injuries. He looked tiny and thin and battered and bruised and almost broken. Mostly, he just looked tired. Exhausted. Like he needed someone to take care of him.

Your heart did that stuttering thing again and you swiftly made your escape, face flushed bright violet. You leaned against the door and tried to set yourself straight. There is nothing to be embarrassed about in this situation. Due to good old trollian lack of shame, you certainly had seen some of your friends more nude than that. And after the various incidents within your group, you had definitely seen more serious injuries. You shake your head and knock on the door, which opens almost immediately.

The tub incident has absolutely nothing on seeing the boy wearing your old clothes. Although the lengths are about right (okay, the trousers are cuffed and the shirt sleeves cover his hands entirely), you were broader in the shoulder back then than he is now. The black shirt with your sign (oh how you had debated giving him one of those to wear, but there were not many options) is so loose that it slipped down and one of his shoulders is completely bare. Somehow, all this made him look impossibly small. Your head is swimming and the air feels as thick as water in your lungs. Swallowing hard, you held a hand out towards him.

And then it came to you. Literally. He puts his delicate brownish hand in one of your giant, clawed paws without even batting an eye. Oh no. Oh shit. Oh no oh shit oh no oh shit oh no oh shit! This cannot be happening to you! Even as you lead him down the corridor, you go over the past events with a sort of dawning horror. You had rescued him from the waters, sure, that was all fine and dandy. But then you had taken care of his wounds even when he was being difficult. You had trusted him in your hive without locking him up in the brig. You had even allowed him to stitch up your wounds, something even Feferi had to bully you into allowing. (Kanaya had once come at you with a sewing needle and you had almost shot her full of holes.) Hell, you had even permitted him to stay with you when you fell asleep- something no sane troll would have done. You had been worried about his safety and his _feelings_ more than any person you had been in contact with before. And here you are, taking care of him before you even started to think about yourself.

He stumbles a little, yawning. Without even thinking about it, you scoop him back up into your arms like he is some sort of pupa's doll. Oh no. It is much worse than you thought. Then you start to freak out. You wonder if humans have quadrants; after all, they are mammals and that is weird enough as it is without thinking about how their social structure works. Even if they did have quadrants, you have no idea if he already has a...(Feferi dumped you, you could at least think it)... moirail. You debate whether you should send for Karkat to get his advice on the matter, since he was always best with relationships. Then again, you do not want to have to wait that long. You want to curl up on a chair with him and take a nap. You want to sooth away all of his cuts and scrapes and gashes. You want him to roll his blue, blue eyes at you when you are being ridiculous. You want to run around holding hands and spewing diamonds.

You are so infatuated with this tiny human. But just as you think that, he throws his good arm around your shoulders and nuzzles his face into you neck. You squeak in a totally dignified way, to which he responds with a sound between a snort and a chuckle. Wow, even that is adorable. Unable to take it any longer, you decide to make your first move. You clear your throat, suddenly anxious.

"Eridan," you tell him. Not exactly hitting on him, but a name is at least a place to start. You wait two heartbeats, thinking that there is some kind of cosmic interference that prevents him from understanding.

Then he softly replies, "John."

Okay. So maybe this is not so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eridan you are the biggest dorkfish. but i love it.
> 
> guess who worked on this story while hanging out at the moirails place?? i did. thats who. writin fanfic while surrounded by her ten siblings like a badass antisocial person. ((okay thats a lie. i spent quite a bit of time with the kids. theyre all pretty great.)) i did work on it though. so yay for gettin somethin done storywise.


	3. Chapter 3

You are rudely awakened from your nap when you are jostled. Your cheek has swollen so that you can barely squint out of that eye, but you still manage to see the pained expression on the gray face near yours. The troll- no wait, he has a name now. Right. Eridan. Eridan is struggling in his sleep, obviously in the throws of some nightmare. You quickly assess the situation. The two of you are crammed into a plush reading chair, yourself being sprawled over the lap of your larger companion. He has one arm loosely looped around your waist, and the other is hanging off the side of the armrest, occasionally twitching violently. It reminds you of Bec dreaming of the hunt; however, the look on Eridan's face is anything but joyful.

Worried, you try to murmur to him soothingly. You know that he cannot understand what you are saying, and yet you hope that the tone will reach him. His hands still, their frantic movements slowing and then halting completely. As his brow smooths out, you stroke his cheek lightly, still telling him that everything is going to be alright. One gold and purple eye slits open, and then everything tilts before exploding into pain. Ow. You stare up at him from the hard floor, wondering what you had done wrong. Perhaps you had overstepped some boundary. Even if he is rather clingy with you, that did not necessarily mean that it was okay to molest his face while he is asleep. Even if you were simply trying to help.

His eyes are still foggy with sleep but are rapidly clearing. He blinks a few times. Then he looks at you, really looks at you, and you can see panic clearly stamped across his features. Your previous hypothesis is looking much more unlikely. Perhaps he simply had struck out at you because of his nightmare, his sleep-addled state assuming that you were an enemy. Either way, he looks heartbroken at the moment. Wow your head hurts. You must have hit it again when you fell, because everything is going a little fuzzy and the pain makes it hard to think.

"John?" he makes an abortive attempt to reach out to you. Hey, that is you! That is your name! You shake your head a little, trying to clear it. This proves to cause more pain, but at least you seem to have jogged your thoughts a little.

"Asshole," you grumble, dragging yourself to your feet using the armrest. Those strange eyes look up at you, a little fearful and a lot concerned. You glance around for a moment, realizing that you do not even know where you are. The room appears to be a...library. Okay. You seriously have never seen so many books in one place before. Unfortunately, it does not look like there is anywhere else to sleep where you will not be randomly booted to the floor. You debate for a moment how comfortable it would be to sleep on a pile of books.

"John?" he tries again. You look back and now his expression is full of guarded hope. With a sigh, you clamber back onto the chair (and mostly onto his lap, but you are going to ignore that part). You lift up his arm, tuck yourself up under his chin, and then wrap it around you. It takes a moment before his limp hand finally moves to grip you, pulling you closer to him. You feel the second one move to gently cradle the back of your head. Even without being able to see his face, you know that he is starting to calm down. You fall asleep listening to his strangely slow heartbeat.

* * * * *

The second time that you wake up, John is still asleep and you manage not to rip his throat out upon finding him on your lap. You really have got to set your respiteblock in working order. This dry sleep is the kind of stuff for when you are out hunting, not for when you need to recuperate from attacks. You manage to lift the boy up and deposit him back onto the chair, where he shuffles for a moment before falling still again. Okay that is really adorable.

You abscond to your room before you do anything stupid and frown at the ajar door. Stepping inside, you can smell the soapy water in the air and immediately send a mental note of thanks to your lusus. It appears Imperious had taken care of everything for you. The floors are spotless of blood. The furniture has been moved back to where it belongs. You couch is remade (oh, you just know you are going to get an interesting earful about that). The pile of extra blankets and things has been fetched from the other room and now sits in the corner near your recuperacoon. Everything is exactly the way it should be.

Then you spot a sheaf of papers all tacked onto the wall above your desk. Frowning, you wonder if Imperious had attempted to leave you a note. Writing really is not his strong point. Growing closer, you see that they are drawings, not notes. It does not take long to figure out who could have made them. Curious, you start to examine the doodles. They appear to tell a story. The first has little humans with a lusus... a lot of lusii, actually. The one with blue eyes and big teeth must be John, but your heart sinks after that realization. In the picture, he is holding the hand of a green-eyed human girl... a quadrantmate, likely. Her lusus (it has touches of green to it as well) is by her side. Curiously it does not look like John drew his lusus. There are plenty of lusii, but they are all in the background and none of them look like potential blueblooded lusii. There is an older green-eyed human off to the side who might be the girl's ancestor, but that is it. No trolls. No other humans.

John did not have a lusus. It takes you a moment to process this. It must have been terribly lonely. He had the two humans in the picture (one of which you are starting to fear might be his moirail), but that is it. The next picture has the little John on a ship, an island small in the distance. He left his home and hive behind. The third one has him with another older human; it looks like perhaps they are working on some sort of blocks. It is hard to tell what they are making in the poorly-drawn scenario. You move to the next drawing and nearly have a bloodpusher attack.

If the drawings before had been goofy, simple representations, then the sketches you see now are intricate and realistic. The green-eyed girl looks a lot like John, you realize. The older man with the green eyes is definitely her ancestor, and her wolf lusus is strangely more fluffy than you would have imagined. There is a sketch of the strange older man with the hat. Sketches of the sailors (you recognize the one that died from the head wound and feel a stab of guilt). Then you get to the last few papers and your heart literally skips a beat.

The handsome seaddweller has the prominent arched nose and high cheekbones associated with nobility. His fins are delicate. There is even a faint scar across one cheek. You rub your own cheek, feeling the slight ridge there. That is you. He had drawn you. You look at the next one and find that one is of you as well, your face slightly turned to the side. The next one has sketches of you, too. You can feel the blood rushing to your face. You do not even have the words to put into thought the storm of emotions boiling up inside you. You simply feel the overwhelming need to go check up on him, to make sure that he is still sound asleep in your reading chair.

* * * * *

Before you even have opened you eyes, there is the rustling sound of paper. You blink and see Eridan standing there, sheaves of paper carefully grasped in his claws. At the moment, he has not noticed you, peering closely at the documents. Curious, you decide to get up and see what he is looking at with such concentration. You are only a little annoyed that you have to tap his arm to get his attention, the pages being held to high for you to look at.

He startles, then quickly regains his composure. Your attempt to not smirk is halfhearted and, as his annoyed expression suggests, completely ineffectual. Nevertheless, he lowers the papers so you can see the crude drawings scribbled on them. Oh. Right. You had completely forgotten about those. You can feel your cheeks begin to burn, and you start to apologize for using his materials without asking before realizing that it is pointless since he cannot understand you.

He points to the little doodle you, "John?" You nod. He points to the picture of the girl holding your hand and then makes a sort of churring noise. You blink.

"Oh!" you exclaim, understanding that he was trying to ask a question. "That's Jade." You point at the figures in the picture in turn, "John. Jade. Bec. Grandpa Harley."

"Grnpa Halley," he makes a face. Then he points to the little clasped hands of the doodles. He makes the churring noise again, but there is more of a tone of urgency about it.

"Ah, Jade is my sister," you try to explain. "We're twins, so we are a lot alike. Um. You don't understand that. Sister? Oh geez. Gimme the paper." You flip the paper around, and then glance about for something to write with. Surrounded by all these books, you assume that there must be something nearby. Not seeing anything, you turn to the troll in frustration. You hold your hand above the paper as if holding an invisible quill. He snorts, but turns and stalks off towards a shelf. He returns with some charcoal. Oh man, you are so keeping this to draw with later.

For now, however, you have something to explain. You draw a rough sketch of a kindly old man. "Grandpa Harley," you state. Then below him you draw a picture of a middle aged man. You draw a vertical line from Grandpa Harley to him, "Dad." You draw a woman off to the side, "Mom." Then you connect them with a horizontal line, "They got married." You draw two lines down from the horizontal line, "Then they had us." You draw your sister first, "Jade...and John." He is frowning at your paper, and that is when you remember that trolls are not like humans when it comes to family.

"Here," you point to Grandpa Harley. "Grandpa Harley." Then you follow the line down to Dad, and then again down to Jade. Then you do the same thing except you end with yourself. You glance up and you see the spark of understanding in his eyes. He mutters a sentence or two, but then he points to the picture of your dad. He churrs. He turns the picture over and points to an empty spot next to you. Then he churrs again.

"Oh..." you bite your bottom lip. "Um..." You turn the paper over again to look at your crudely-drawn family tree. You take the charcoal and draw a thick line through the picture of your dad, "Dead." Then you do the same to the picture of your mom, "Dead." Even though you were too young to remember it, it still hurts a little to think about the fact that your family was halved in one fell swoop. Grandpa Harley had done his best to raise you and Jade in their stead, so you were not any worse off in the world for being an orphan.

A giant hand settles down the the top of your head, and you look up to see the troll staring down at you thoughtfully. You give him a timid smile, and his face relaxes a bit. Then he yawns. It is amazing that the sight of those serrated fangs does not even phase you anymore. It feels like all you two have been doing is sleeping lately, but maybe all that extra rest meant that you both would heal quicker. Eridan begins to walk away, pausing only to gesture at you to follow. You trot after him, not feeling up to wandering around the labyrinthine passages alone. You end up back in what you assume are his own quarters, where you see your pile of random blankets and cushions has been moved into a corner. You are too tired and sore to wonder why he would have moved you from the other room; instead, you settle down in the heap and pull a blanket over yourself.

* * * * *

The next time you wake up, you are in a coon full of fresh slime you do not remember getting into. With a groan, you heave yourself over the edge and note the medical supplies laid out on your writing desk. Your lusus is starting to treat you like a grub again. First thing is first, though. You have got to go clean all this sopor off of you before you can even think about doing anything else. As soon as the first rivulets of cold freshwater start to run over your head, you suddenly remember that you did not check on John. Muttering a curse, you swiftly finish your shower and pull on a clean pair of trousers. You cannot believe that you forgot about him.

You practically skid into the room in your rush, feeling a sense of urgency. You heart sinks when you realize that the pile in the corner looks decidedly empty. You go and poke a few lumps just to be sure, but the hollow spot in the middle looks like the human's nest. Your heartbeat quickens. Perhaps he had gotten hungry and wandered off, you attempt to rationalize. Or he had woken up while you were gone and went to look for you. A darker, more cynical part of your mind suggested that he could be raiding your armory right this moment. If he was... you really do not want to have to lock him up in the brig. You shake your head to clear it; you had to find him before you could decide on a course of action.

The first place you check is another nearby ablution block. And although things look like they have been rearranged, there is no little human to be found. Then you make your way to the room he had previously stayed in, hoping that somehow he had found his way back. Next you return to the medical bay. Then the nearby armory. Feeling supremely frustrated, you pause to pant in the corridor, trying to think of where to check next. Wait, you smell something. Even though it has been a few weeks since you have been hunting, you can feel your predatory instincts taking over. You stalk through the halls, occasionally stopping to snuffle the air hungrily.

Within minutes you are entering the mealblock. You glance around and quickly find the human...baking? There are heavy bags of flour and sugar on the counter (you wonder briefly how he managed to lift them with only one usable arm), surrounded by a scattering of egg shells and a bottle of beer. John himself is on his haunches in front of the oven, attempting to wrestle the heavy stone slab out of the oven without dropping the freshly baked bread to the ground. You quickly move over with a couple rags and bump him out of the way so you can lift the slab up onto the counter yourself. Then you just give him a look. He glances away and mumbles something, obviously sheepish. You debate getting angry with him but there is no way he could have known what you were worried about in the first place.

You sigh, "You knoww wwhat. Just go sit dowwn." You point at a chair to make your meaning clear. He side-eyes you as he sidles over to the chair as meek as can be. Perhaps you still looked a tad miffed. You take a moment to get yourself back under control. John has done nothing to make you think he has any ill intentions, but old habits die hard. It does not help that lack of communication is complicating the problem. You pick up a loaf of bread and toss it onto the table, already moving over to one of the nearby barrels. Pickled herring is awesome and just the comfort food you need. On the thought of humans probably having different nutritional needs, you grab a few apples and a half-wheel of cheese while you are up.

By the time you are back at the table, John has somehow located a knife and started slicing the bread. You should probably be concerned with the fact he now knows where to find sharp things, but compared to his hammer, a breadknife is not likely to do a lot of damage. He raises his eyebrows at your haul and you proceed to stare him dead in the eye as you eat a pickled herring whole. Head and all. His responding shudder and grimace are priceless and well worth likely having to hack up the bones you cannot digest later. You laugh at him, and he snort-chuckles as he steals an apple from you collection.

Now that you have calmed down, you look over his injuries with a critical eye. His face is still discolored, but the swelling has not increased any more. You will have to do up another splint for him in a few nights; recent events have not been kind to your first contraption. A piece of bread is waved under your nose. You blink, trying to refocus on the closer object as you grab it out of mostly instinct. You look back at the boy and he is happily munching on his own slice.

"Howw do you knoww that feedin me bread wwon't krill, uh, kill me, huh?" you frown at him. He glances from your face down to the bread and then back up at your face as if trying to decode a message. "Oh. Right. Wwe'vve gotta do somethin about the language thing. The not talkin is gonna kill me before anythin else. I don't get vvisitors vvery often in the first place, so it's just not fair tha-mmmmf!" Your mouth is crammed full of bread. You glare down at your cheeky little human as he giggles and leans back out of reach.

After clearing your proteinchute, you come to a decision, "Okay. Wwe're gonna do this my wway then. You're gonna learn Alternian like a decent tro-uh, sentient thing. Okay?" He tilts his head at your question, suddenly much more alert. "Okay then. Let's see.... uh, apple." You point to the mostly devoured fruit in his hand. He glances down at it, then back at you, then down at the apple.

"Apple," you repeat, a little more firmly. He blinks twice. Then you see the understanding in his eyes.

He points to himself, "John." He points to you, "Eridan." He points to the fruit, "Ap...ple." The word comes out a little stressed, but you figure he can learn enunciation as he progresses further.

You nod, "Yeah, that's an apple." You cast about for another object, "Bread. Knife. Herring. Wwait, maybe that's too hard. Fish? Let's go wwith fish for noww."

"Bread. Kni...Knife. Herring. Ff-ffish," he repeats, but he does some sort of strange thing with the end of the word fish where it goes up in pitch. He looks at you in confusion. You are not sure what he means until he churrs, "wwho?"

"Oh. Do you wweird creatures ask questions wwith tone?" you gape. "Okay, no. Wwe don't do that; wwe churr. First I wwill explain fish. Then wwe are gonna go over question wwords." You get up and grab a salted sardine as well as a dried trout from the line. You return and set them next to the pickled herring, "All of these, fish. Herring. Sardine. Trout. Fish. Fish. Fish."

"Fish," he nods. "Herring. Sardine. Trout. Fish."

"All fish," you confirm. "Noww. Wwhat's this?"

"Uh.... brrr-bread," he recalls. It is not perfect, but it is a start. You already feel a little better about this whole ordeal.

* * * * *

You repeat the words after the troll, not entirely sure if you are saying them correctly. His language sounds a lot more gutteral than what you are used to speaking. You wonder if that is just a part of Alternian or if he had an accent. After all, it is not uncommon for nobles or royalty to learn Alternian as part of their studies. For a nobody on the edges of society like you, however, it is not really a skill one comes by in day to day life. You kind of wish that you had been exposed to it before all this mess; it would have made things go over a lot smoother.

Each time you repeat the name of something, he either nods in confirmation or repeats it until you fix the syllable that you are stressing incorrectly. When he gets to asking questions, you recognize the churrs from when you explained your family tree. They honestly do not quite sound like words to you, and you have some trouble differentiating them. It is clear he is becoming frustrated, when suddenly you hear some sort of...neighing? Your wandering gaze snaps back to Eridan as he speaks again, this time a little more loudly. He turns (probably to go fetch another object) and you just happen to look back at the entryway into the kitchen.

Holy shit there is one of those white beasts!

You are scrambling backward over your chair and popping your hammer out of your strife specibus before it can charge you. Its gaze locks on to your weapon and it gives a dreadfully high-pitched whinny and shit its charging and you always hated fighting these things (mostly you avoided them whenever possible). Then there is a sturdy troll between the two of you, arms raised to catch the monster's...halter? How did you miss something like that? He calmly talks to the seahorse-looking thing that is way bigger than a land horse and you recognize that soothing tone. He has used that tone on you.

Oh dear Gods! Trolls have _domesticated_ those things? That certainly explained the way the sailors who stopped on the island always seemed so surprised to find your family there. Actually, you had not seen any of the creatures in the mainland. Perhaps they had been pushed out of the area when the trolls left. The monster in the kitchen makes another angry noise and you tighten your stance in automatic response. Or maybe they were so dangerous that people killed them off. That is a likely option as well.

"John!" that sounded like a reprimand. You wince and look up at the troll to discover that he is indeed frowning at you. He makes the 'come here' gesture and you shake your head. His frown deepens as he repeats the gesture with added stern words. Inwardly you curse as you slowly edge your way towards him, making sure to keep him between you and... his steed? You do not even know what to call the white beast at this point. You know from experience that they are exceptionally swift, smart, and stubborn (and usually vicious if provoked). Eridan makes an unhappy noise and makes a push down gesture at your hammer. He wants you to put your weapon away. Your thoughts start to go in circles. You are facing a new breed of the monsters you have evaded and fought for most of your life and he wants you to put your only defense away.

You do not know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look at this. another chapter already. yay eridan/john fluff!! 
> 
> also bein a kid from a small island inhabited with wild lusii is hard. its hard and no one understands.


	4. Chapter 4

You can see the boy is having some sort of internal crisis, so you try to make your voice calmer and more even, "John, if you do not put that fuckin hammer awway, I wwill put it awway for you. An you wwill not be gettin it back wwithin this swweep. Imperious says that you pulled your wweapon on him. You just can't _do_ that to somebody's lusus. I wwill glubbin knock that stupid mallet outta yer hands. Don't think I won't."

His gaze keeps sliding to the side to see what Imperious is doing. You try again, "John. John. Joooohn. Yeah, look at me. Trust me, okay. He's not just gonna attack wwithout reason. He's my lusus." With a noise that sounds like a whine, he finally stows his hammer away into his strife specibus. Instantly your lusus calms a bit, although he is still grumbling about intruders in the hive and rude guests.

"Come here," you gesture again. "It's not like he's goin to eat you." He shakes his head and plants his feet more firmly, as if determined to make it as difficult as possible for you to move him yourself. You can see in his stance just how badly he does not want to get any closer. Then you remember the pictures he drew. There had been lots of lusii in them. All different sizes of them. And not a single troll. He did not even know Alternian. Oh. Oh dear. John had grown up on a breeding island.

Lusii are mostly-sentient creatures (you have your doubts about some) that are necessary for raising young trolls. They are brilliant caretakers, mostly for being extremely aggressive in the protection of what they consider their young. As such, they guard pupas with their lives, and they routinely leave to travel to special breeding grounds far away from trolls to birth their own offspring. Your human and his littermate likely had been attacked countless times with only their little wolf-lusus to protect them. No wonder he is so afraid!

"John," you say as gentle as you can. "It's really okay. You are goin to havve to meet him at some point so he wwon't think you're an intruder. Come here." You hold out a hand. He eyes Imperious one last time, then he locks on to you. He takes a tentative step forward. Then a second one. Then by the third you can reach out and tuck him up under your arm. Imperious snorts and the kid just about jumps out of his skin.

"Alright, be nice to the human," you grouse. "This here is John. He's...my palemate. He's not an intruder or someone you need to wworry about. John, this is Imperious. He's my lusus." You can see his blue eyes glancing up at you before skittering back over the large form that is your Seahorsedad. You sigh and do the pointing thing again, "John. Eridan. Imperious."

"'Mperous," he mumbles.

"Close enough," you shrug. "Noww he's gonna havve to smell you. Gimme your hand. Hand." You hold your free hand out patiently. John reluctantly gives you his right hand, and you enclose it within your own. "Okay. Good. Noww try not to freak out. Both of you." You slowly bring your hand up to Imperious's snout, dragging John's with it. Then you open your hand slowly to reveal the little brownish one inside. John tries to pull his hand back, but you keep a firm grip on his wrist. Your lusus snuffles the hand for a moment, and then snorts.

"Yeah, I knoww he smells a human an herbs an fear. I'd be more concerned if he _didn't_ smell like human," you inform Imperious. "Noww just hold steady a minute until he realizes that you aren't going to bite his hand off." So the three of you stand there in the kitchen for a few minutes until John uncurls his fist and then slowly reaches up to pat Imperious's snout. A warm, fuzzy feeling starts to spread out from your chest. "There, see? You twwo are gonna be friendly noww."

* * * * *

You have no good reason to explain why you gave in and did as the troll asked. You could easily have held your ground. Or fled to somewhere tight where the white creature would not be able to reach you. Or kept your weapon on hand and fought the beast. You had taken on larger ones than that. In the end, however, you let yourself be placed directly in front of the monster, completely unarmed and defenseless. Yet somehow it remained calm. Eridan even introduced you to it. And now you just discovered that, like a land horse, Imperious likes to have his nose petted.

But if he tries to eat one of your apples, you are pulling the hammer back out.

Whoa, wait! Where is your beefy bodyguard going? A large hand pats your shoulder to let you know that he wants you to stay right where you are. That is exactly the one place that you do not want to be. You watch, frozen in place, as the troll leaves the room. If the monster does not kill you, you are going to murder Eridan when he gets back. It eyes you with an intelligence (and dare you say disdain?) that makes you extremely uneasy. A minute goes by. Then another. You start glancing at the food still on the table. Your stomach growls, reminding you that all you have eaten thus far was most of an apple.

Then the beast makes its move, heading straight for the table. You halfheartedly call out for it to stop as it takes one of your apples into its hungry maw and...turns around and drops it in your hands. There are not even bite marks on the skin. You look questioningly at it, and it just snorts. Hesitantly you reach out and give him another nose-pat; the giant floating seahorse (you long ago stopped questioning these crazy white creatures) just gives a little head bob. Taking a bite of your favorite snack, you decide that you rather like this Imperious after all. When Eridan finally returns with some sheaves of paper, quills, and ink bottles, he finds you feeding the white thing apple slices. The astounded expression on his face is priceless.

* * * * *

"John! You stay awway from the ledges or I swwear I wwill tell Imperious to stop catchin you evvery time you fall off!" you yell at the human as you haul in the net with tonight's catch.

He laughs, teetering over the edge as he attempts to help you by bringing up the last net. With one usable arm, everynight tasks are full of mishaps for your human. Even though it has been a couple weeks and you have constructed a sturdier splint for his arm, he still kept it mostly immobile and close to his body. You worry that perhaps humans are like racing horses and he will never regain full use of that limb again. You also worry that sometimes he pretends that he cannot understand you just so he can do stupid, dangerous things. At least his face healed up nicely; there is barely any discoloration at all.

As if on cue, he suddenly wobbles violently, almost pitching over the edge. You are a split second from dropping your net to rush towards him when he rocks backwards at the last moment and lands heavily on his ass. Literally at the same time you are trying not to have a heart attack, he snort-chuckles and picks himself right back up to try again. You only feel your blood pressure start to recede when Imperious floats over to help him. In a few heaves, your net is already up and the fish splash around uselessly on the deck. You then stomp over to go finish hauling the last net with your lusus and human.

"I swwear, John, you do this shit just so I wwill freak out," you growl. He glances up at you with that questioning look, so you rephrase. "Bad John. Bad. You make me wworry."

He makes a face at you, "No bad. John good."

"Ugh," you groan. "Yes, I knoww you are good. But you are really bad as wwell. You'vve gotta be more careful! Um. Stay safe. John needs to stay safe. Glub, wwe need to wwork on gettin you some more wwords. The picture idea wwas great but noww all you knoww are nouns an a couple vverbs. I'm just not good at this sorta thing."

He suddenly looks worried, "Eridan good."

"I knoww, John," you sigh and place a hand on top of his head. "I knoww. Stay, okay? I gotta run beloww for the dumb baskets again. Stay up here and wwatch the fish."

"Yeah," he nods. "Wwatch fish."

" _Noww_ you're a good John," you ruffle his hair. "Imperious, you come wwith me. I see you eyein those bass. That's not for you, you fat lard. Come on."

* * * * *

You watch Eridan glide out of sight like a prowling cat on the hunt, Imperious trailing after him reluctantly. Then you turn your attention towards the fish and making sure none of them flop back overboard and onto the rocks. You had to admit that the first time you came onto the deck, you were stunned to discover that the ship you had been living in was beached. It looked to be grounded on the top of some underwater mountain range, if you had to guess. Probably the same ones that your previous ship had bucked you overboard into.

Looking back, though, it made perfect sense. There are no crew members because they are not needed. The ship always seemed still even when you could hear the wind and waves outside because it is always still. Although normally you would think that living on a shipwreck would be spooky, you honestly find the small rooms kind of homey, if somewhat impossible to navigate. The whole thing is laid out like a maze of corridors and random rooms; the only way to get from one place to another is to already know the exact route. (You may or may not have already gotten lost five or six times.)

You hear a voice calling out and your head turns so fast you might have whiplash. That was not Eridan's voice. You wait a few moments with your heartbeat pounding in your ears. There it is again! Definitely not your troll. Maybe one of his nearby friends came for a visit? You already know that some trolls have gills. It is not impossible to imagine that one of them lives nearby.

You scurry over to the side of the ship that you think the yelling is coming from and look down. There is a small rowboat tied up on a rock. You are pretty sure that rowboat was not there the last time you were abovedeck. You frown at it for a moment, unsure if you should try to ask Eridan about it. Then you glance up and there is a troll. Right there. Grey skinned with little nubby horns and everything. He seems just as shocked as you are to see someone else on the deck.

Then he opens his mouth and dear lord you had thought Eridan sounded angry. This guy is practically roaring at you. You wonder if that is even Alternian he is speaking. He literally stomps towards you and you start backing up because holy shit does this guy look like he wants to throttle someone. You are fumbling in your mind for some of your words to tell him to please stop yelling, to slow down, to not murder you with his bare hands. Suddenly he yells and lunges towards you and you back up faster- right into the opening for the stairs.

"Shit!" you exclaim right before you land on something oddly giving for wooden steps.

"John?" your favorite troll's face comes into focus right in front of yours.

"ERIDAN!" screams the other troll. You now have no idea what is going on.

* * * * *

For a moment, you gape at the creature in front of you and it gapes back at you. That is definitely not a troll. No horns or gray skin. Those weird blue on white eyes. That definitely looks a lot like a human. Why the Hell is there a human on _The Orphaner_? What the fuck is Ampora up to this time?

"You have two seconds to fucking explain to me what you are doing on Ampora's ship before I pull out some sickles and slice open your windchute, asshole," you snarl, stomping towards the human. "Does the gilled bastard even know that you are up here or are you some freeloading parasite? No, his lusus would have straight up killed you if you were an intruder. Wait, stop backing up. Hey. Idiot, you are about to- FUCKING HELL THAT'S THE STAIRWAY! STOP BACKING-"

You lunge for him and he, unsurprisingly, trips over his own feet to get farther away from you. Which, of course, causes him to fall down the trapdoor that houses the stairs to go belowdeck. You hear him say something and then a soft thump. Then Ampora's thick voice is drifting up from the stairwell and you realize that he probably just broke the human's fall. He does not sound alarmed. If anything, he sounds mildly surprised or inconvenienced.

"ERIDAN!" you scream. "WHAT THE _FUCK_ HAVE YOU BEEN UP TO? I LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR LIKE A PERIGREE AND YOU GO OUT AND PICK UP A _HUMAN_! WHERE THE SHITSTINKING HELL DID YOU EVEN _FIND_ HIM?"

"Aww, come on, Kar," he walks up the last few stairs, still carrying the human. "I'vve told you and told you to keep your vvoice down. Look, you're freakin out John."

You suck in a deep breath of air and try to lower your volume, "Fuck. Okay. Why the hell is he named John? What kind of thinkpandamage-inducing name is that?"

"The one he gavve me," shrugs the seatroll. "Oh right. John, this is Karkat. Karkat. Karkat, say hi to John."

"Why would I want to say hi to someone who cannot even understand the words coming out of my windchute?" you snarl.

"It's okay, John," Ampora ignores you like the nookwhiffer he is. "Karkat is all bark and no bite. He just is loud. Vvery, vvery loud. Karkat's good."

"Okay, the grub talk is for bulgelickers that-"

"Hi Karkat!" the human pipes up.

You blink, "...what the fuck? If you could understand Alternian why didn't you answer me in the first place, you bluntfanged moron?"

"Wwatch your glubbin language, Kar," growls the highblood as he carefully lowers the human to the ground. "He's still learnin Alternian, and I'm tryin to cut dowwn on the swwearin. He wwill repeat just about anything you say." Now that you are able to better size him up, you note that the human is just as hilariously small as you thought. While he probably is the same height as you, you at least had a sturdy frame. He looks like Sollux if he was a rustblood- that is to say, he is made of fleshy twigs. You are very much so not impressed.

* * * * *

"Wwell," you smirk as Karkat sizes up John, "I really thought that he wwas shorter than you, Kar. I guess it must be your stunnin personality that makes you seem bigger."

"Fuck you," snaps the landdweller as he turns his attention back towards you. "Seriously, though. Where did you pick this idiot up from? I don't see any fins adorning him."

"There was a shipwwreck," you shrug. "He's the only one I pulled outta the wwater that made it in the long run. Wwe'vve been havving a Hell of a time. I sent off a pigeon to Kan requestin some advice on wwhat to do, but she never got back to me. Probubbly because she is sick an tired of me like evveryone else."

"When was this?" he narrows his eyes.

"Uh," you tally up the nights in your head, "aboat, um, about three wweeks ago."

Karkat sighs, "Yeah, then she is probably ignoring you. I'm sure she did not think you were being serious, since she is always so eager to help people out. I will go talk to her after I leave. In the meantime, what are you planning on doing with him?"

"Uh, wwhat?" you say.

"I mean, how the Hell did you even manage to keep him alive for three weeks?" continues Karkat. "You are like the absolute worst at sensing what other people need. And another thing, why haven't you taken him to land? He is obviously not built to live out in the middle of the ocean, you dumb fuck. You can't really be planning on keeping him here like some sort of weird pet or something. Even you aren't that perverse."

"Sloww dowwn, Kar," you wave a hand a bit to get his attention. "He's not a pet! He's... kind a... aww, forget it. You'd probably just laugh. And I'm not takin him anywwhere until his arm heals up. I mean, you saww it! He's like a wwalkin disaster just wwaitin to happen."

"No, go back a second," he gives you one of his patented glares. "'He's kind of' what? Because if you were about to say anything about quadrants, I am going to have to cull you and feed your remains to the fucking sharks. You cannot be such a desperate bulgehumper that you are seriously trying to _force someone **who is practically stranded with you** into a quadrant_. I will seriously murder you without any regrets, Ampora."

"No, that's not it at all!" you shake your head. You feel your shoulders start to slump under that unbelieving stare. "I just...kind of...maybe started feelin a little...towwards him. I mean...ugh, wwhat am I sayin?"

"You have two seconds to either explain or start running," grits out Karkat through bared fangs. With a pop, his dual sickles appear along with the smell of ozone. "I'm serious, sharkfucker."

"Wwait, Kar, come on," you take a step back to make sure you are out of lunging range. "It's nothin like-" He makes as if to rush you and suddenly he slides to a halt as something arcs in front of him to thud heavily on the deck. The wood creaks again as John hefts his hammer back up, placing himself directly between the two of you. You both stare at him for a moment, completely dumbstruck.

"Bad Karkat," he carefully states.

"I am going to rip you a new asshole, you moron!" hisses the lowblood. "I am trying to help you, you retar-" He stops when he hears the pop of your strife specibus.

"Lowwer the blades, Kar," you snarl. He frowns at you, then does a double-take. He lowers his weapons just a bit.

"You...you're _pale_ for him?" he gapes.

* * * * *

You hold your stance until the strange troll lowers his weapons, knowing that although you have no idea what is going on, Eridan will have his rifle trained on the guy. They are starting to talk again, and it seems like they are winding down from whatever set off their little spat in the first place. Their voices are softer and slower. Since you only know a couple handfuls of words, you cannot quite keep pace with the conversation. This goes on for a few minutes, and you keep your attention on the shorter troll in front of you.

"John," Eridan pats your shoulder. "Bad hammer. --- put away hammer -- Karkat ---- -- good now." You frown. You glance back at the one called Karkat, who is still eyeing your weapon. Then, with a sigh, you stow your hammer away again. You can always eject it from your strife deck if things start to look bad again. As soon as your hammer is out of sight, the other troll returns his curved blades back to his own strife specibus.

"--- ---! Who --- -- --- Eridan?" the angry troll crosses his arms. He looks impatient.

"Uh...," Eridan stalls. You glance up to find him looking uncertain. "I -- know who -- understand." The other troll makes an angry noise so he continues, "-- three --- -- shipwreck. John -- --- --- -- ----. -- ---- draw picture." You perk up a bit at that, realizing he is talking about your drawings. The way you had been learning Alternian was having Eridan point to an object or a picture and repeating the word until you got it right. You like drawing things just to make Eridan have to sit down and teach you more words. Sometimes you swear he groans as soon as he hears the rustle of paper.

"Who -- -- draw picture --?" the other troll asks. You start tuning them out again, unable to understand enough to know what is going on.

* * * * *

"What about trying to draw a picture of it?" you question. Ampora gapes at you. "Eridan, I swear you are like the densest person ever. I am like ninety percent sure that if humans have quadrants, they are fucking based on our system. Which would mean that he should recognize the symbols, at the very least. I can spell the rest of it out if you need me to do so. I am pretty much used to telling people every single step to take for relationships to work out anyway."

"No, I mean, I think I got it," he splutters. "I just. Three wweeks seems a little fast. You wwere alwways the one tellin me I wwas goin too fast all the time."

"Well, considering that he has, for all intents and purposes, moved in with you and is apparently willing to fucking step between you and an angry troll, I am going to go ahead and say that moving too fast was passed a long time ago. Just... make sure you are serious about this. You could be having a rebound from Peixes. Or maybe he is just little and helpless right now, so you got a little pity going. It happens sometimes."

"No. I'm pretty sure I'm going pale," he rubs his face in a way that suggests he has been spending way too much time thinking about this. "I mean. I let him _stitch me up_ , Kar. Stab wwounds and I let him just seww me back up. Sometimes wwe fall asleep together on chairs and stuff. I introduced him to Imperious and it wwas like the most awwkwward thing ever. And it's not red. He fell asleep on the couch at one point and I about had a bloodpusher attack."

"If it were red, I might seriously be deciding to defenestrate you," you remind him. "I'm still on the fence about that even with it being pale. I mean. He kind of _had_ to depend on you if he was injured and stranded out here. But since he seems to be attached to you, I will postpone any bloodshed. I am just going to hang around and see how you two assholes interact with each other for awhile. I reserve the right to beat you down if the poor guy shows any signs of being coerced. Because fuck you."

"Kar, you knoww I don't have a spare recuperacoon," he fidgets with his sleeve.

"The kid is wearing your old clothes," you state. "I think a situation like this is desperate enough for me to rough it out on a shitty pile for a couple days."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand here we have the introduction of one of my favorite trolls. dont worry. the fic is gonna center around eridan and john. the other characters are here cause....honestly cause its fuckin borin with just two people in a fic this long. trust me. i have so many plans for this story.
> 
> basically you guys are gettin a middle of the week update because im ((like much of the united states right now)) snowed in. i hope to get the next chapter up on valentines day so thats a little over a week away. for those of you snowbound- stay warm and drive safe if you hafta travel!!


	5. Official

When Eridan turns his back on the new troll, you make an abortive move to reequip your hammer. However, if he is confident enough to trust this Karkat, so will you. It is clear already that they know each other. You just are not sure how exactly the two of them relate to one another. The short troll has bright red eyes, and he is glaring at you in a way that makes you shift uneasily. Eridan calls for you, and you snap to attention just in time to catch the wicker basket tossed at you.

"Karkat -- help pick up bass," Eridan tosses a basket at the stranger as well. He makes a face but turns to pick up a large seabass anyway. Feeling more at ease now that Mr. Shouty is busy, you turn your attention to the smaller fish. After doing this for a week now, you know the drill. Separate the different fish out into their respective baskets, then the two of you would take them downstairs and salt, pickle, or dry them for storage. Your job is to gather tuna and keep the rest of the fish from escaping off the side of the ship. Also occasionally you have to sneak Imperious some snacks so that he will not try to run off with the biggest of the catch.

You grab a tuna by the tail and toss it into your basket. You keep side-eying the new troll to keep tabs on where he is working. At the moment, he is on one side of you and Eridan is on the other; and you would much prefer to keep it this way just in case he got any funny ideas. You reach for another tuna and toss that one as well. After a few more, you are able to ignore the stranger a little better. It also helps that you do a lot of running up and down the deck during these excursions. You see a bass approaching the edge of the ship and you dash over before it can escape. Instead of picking it up, you simply sweep your foot out and kick it back towards the middle of the deck. Bass are not your responsibility, after all.

The stranger makes some sort of exclamation, which draws Eridan's attention. He glances at him, then at you. He shrugs, replies, and turns back towards wrestling a medium-sized shark into submission. You had worried the first couple times, but after you tried to help him once, he about bit your head off himself. Since then you just collect the fish that he tells you to and stay out of his way. You collect a few more silvery fish before you spot another escapee. This time it is a small shark, so you approach it a bit more carefully.

Sharks are little bastards. In addition to their Eridan-like fangs (Or wait, did Eridan have shark-like fangs?), even their _scales_ can cut you up if you grab them the wrong way. You grab just ahead of its tail and let your hand slide down (never up!) as you drag it back. It makes a halfhearted attempt to devour your foot and you dance out of the way with an explosion of questionable words. Eridan glances up to make sure you are okay before returning to his work. Just for good measure, you nudge the shark farther away with your hammer. Then it is back to collecting tuna.

As time goes by, you have made significant headway on gathering all of the tuna. All that is left are the smaller ones and some weird fish that you are not entirely sure what they are but they are brown and ugly. Eridan usually tosses those back overboard. The small tuna, however, you sometimes keep to pickle. You hate pickled tuna. You hate it more than pickled herring, and that is saying something. You glance to see if Eridan is paying attention before sneaking Imperious one of the smaller fish (he is almost always floating nearby, probably for this reason).

"John!" a reprimanding tone causes you to jump. You had completely forgotten Karkat was even there! "Eridan, who -- -- Imperious tuna?"

The seatroll throws his last shark into the big basket and turns to frown at you, "John. Who -- -- Imperious tuna --?" You shake your head and pat Imperious's nose. Nope. No fish here. Eridan's expression suggests that he believes that about as well as he believes the sky is actually orange. Damn he knows you all too well. "Bad John. Fish no -- Imperious." You know he is saying that these fish are not for the seahorse, but honestly you do not see why he cannot have a couple. You pout.

* * * * *

"John! Eridan, is he supposed to be giving Imperious tuna?" Karkat's voice sounds more peeved than usual.

You finish wrestling the bullshark into the basket and sigh. You turn to see John looking particularly guilty, "John. Are you feedin Imperious tuna _again_?" He shakes his head rapidly and attempts to distract you with how cute he is petting your lusus. You are not fooled. "Bad John. These fish are not for Imperious." Then he starts the pouting thing. "I knoww wwe'vve talked about this before. You're gonna make him the fattest lusus this side of the sea. He's supposed to eat greens."

"I did not even know he _could_ fucking eat fish," frowns Karkat. "Omnivorous then?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," you shrug. "I'm fairly shore, sure, he's a non-strict herbivvore, technically. Anywway, that's enough exercise for tonight. C'mon, John. Let's go beloww. Karkat, you might wwanna let him go dowwn the stairs first unless you wwanna end up smellin like tuna. He tends to spill the basket."

"Lovely," snorts your guest. He watches John drag his haul along with a look that makes you nervous. (Something about his gaze always just seems a bit too sharp.) You both gather up your baskets and carry them after the human, being sure to give him plenty of room. As you suspected, as he drags the basket down the stairs, there is a sudden explosion of words and the basket thumps down a couple steps rapidly. Somehow John manages to keep the basket more or less upright and the fish inside it. Honestly you had probably collected enough fish now for the next perigree, but you secretly felt guilty that John was forced into such a sedentary lifestyle. At least this way you could keep an eye on him as he exercised.

By the time you get down to the kitchen, John is already standing on the counter to get the scaling knives down from where you had hidden them at the top of a cabinet. Damn he is good at finding things. With a growl, you bump him out of the way and take the knives. There is absolutely no need to take any risks on him getting injured more. Especially since fish are slippery and hard to scale in the first place. He sticks his tongue out at you and turns around to sit on the counter, legs swinging in the air. Then he freezes when he spots Karkat entering the kitchen with his own basket of fish. You pat his shoulder and he relaxes just a tad.

"Okay, I am getting the distinct impression that he really does not like me," the landdweller grumbles.

"Wwell," you stall for a moment, "you are only the second troll he's evven met. The yelling probubbly, dammit probably, puts him off. And the fact you pulled a blade out. I'vve been tryin to speak calm-like most the time. He gets defensivve really quick. And wwhen he gets defensivve, the glubbin hammer comes out."

"So I've noticed," notes Karkat. "How about we get down to business, though? You have any paper around here?"

You gulp, suddenly nervous, "Yeah. It's uh... around here somewwhere. Shoot. I can't keep glubbin track of all the hidey-holes he's been usin lately. John. Wwhere's the paper?"

* * * * *

You watch as the human scrambles down from the counter to another cabinet with drawers. He pulls out a couple sheaves of paper and what looks to be a half-stick of charcoal. Trust someone like Ampora to have enough credits to waste on frivolous things like a million stacks of paper. Then again, for once being an acquaintance of a whiny violetblood is a good thing... or interesting, at the very least. You cannot say that you have spent much time around humans. At the most, you have run into them on occasion while traveling around to meet up with your closer friends. This is definitely the first time you have dealt with one that does not speak Alternian.

"Not me," Eridan shakes his head. "Givve 'em to Karkat." The human frowns, glances over at you, and then back to Eridan. He quirks an eyebrow just so. "Yes, Karkat. I'll be there in a minute. Wwait wwith Karkat." With that, the slimy bastard is back to scaling his precious fish. You know he is just trying to put off the inevitable as long as possible.

"Come on, John," you gesture to the seat next to you. "I don't bite." The expression on his face suggests that he highly doubts that. Nevertheless, he scoots over onto the chair and hands you half the paper and the charcoal. Then he settles in to wait.

"Right," you frown at the paper, trying to decide how to go about this. "Okay. We're going to talk about quadrants. Quadrants? Okay, not getting any sort of response there. How about if I draw them?" You quickly draw a grid. Then you put a heart in one corner. A diamond goes into the square next to that one. Then a spade and a club. You wonder if Eridan has colored ink or paint you could use. (Although you try to not think too hard about where the pigments for those inks come from.) You show him the paper, "Quadrants?" You see a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Then all of the sudden he seems nervous. He glances towards Eridan and then back at the paper and then at you and his eyes keep skittering without ever landing on anything.

"Okay, that's getting somewhere," you press onward. "Do you have quadrants? Um, how does that finned asshole put it? What John quadrants? Ugh, I can feel my thinkpan melting already." The boy is already shaking his head violently, waving a hand in front of him. Okay, that is certainly not what you were expecting. You try again, "Are you okay, John? I am just asking you a question. Do not pull out the stupid mallet. Calm down. Eridan, I need like a list of words he actually fucking knows or something."

Eridan wanders over and glances at the paper before snorting, "Wwoww, Karkat. And I thought I movved too fast."

"What are you talking about, nookwhiffer?" you snarl.

"You might wwanna movve your finger," he sardonically answers. "Wwe'vve been using pointin a lot. Right noww, it looks like you're proposin black to him."

You pull the paper back so you can see what he is yammering about and realize that he is telling the truth. Your claw is resting directly on the spade. "No, no, no, no, NO!" you stammer. "Oh God no! That is not a thing that is happening. Not ever." You quickly move your hand. "Okay. Now that I've had a bloodpusher attack, let's pretend that never happened. One word out of that smug snout, Ampora, and I will disembowel you."

* * * * *

You are still recovering from what you are going to assume was an accidental kismesis proposal when Eridan quips something that has the strange troll slamming his head down onto the table. You jump slightly and then your hands hover about a foot away from him worriedly. You have no idea what is going on anymore. Without even thinking about it, one of your hands moves to grab your hammer before you halt it. Whether the stranger is a threat or not is becoming more and more unclear. You look at Eridan with the best confused expression you can manage.

He laughs, "Karkat -- -- accident, John. No worry." He ruffles your hair a bit, and you drop your hands back down to the table. Apparently the dramatics are normal for this nubby-horned guy. And you thought that you could be a ham! It takes a few minutes, but eventually the smaller troll seems to rally and lifts his head up from the table. He proceeds to spew Alternian at such a high clip that it is impossible for you to keep up with.

"Be nice, Karkat," responds Eridan. "-- -- accident. -- -- ask John." He looks nervous. You do not like that one bit. Because if the big, well-muscled, fanged troll is nervous, that should probably make you _really_ nervous. He takes the parchment from the other troll and moves so that he is in between the two of you. He even crouches down so that his face is level with yours. That means that this is Serious Business.

"Who John," he points to you, "Eridan," he points to himself, then he points to the diamond and says one last word, "moirail?" Your gaze was following his hands up to that point, at which you start to have some sort of brain malfunction. You look up at him and his eyes are big and hopeful and a little afraid. He. He is asking. You. Moirails? Quadrants are not something most people have (outside of matesprits, of course). It is a court thing. For royalty. You are not royalty. You are 'an uncivilized' person raised in the wilds fighting white monsters and swinging from trees. What.

You are so confused, you point to yourself. He nods, starting to frown a little. Oh gosh, you do not want to make him upset! You are just a little surprised. Although the more you think about the past few weeks, the more you recognize that the two of you had indeed been acting quite pale towards each other. Really, really, really pale. Oh goodness. Even though you are a little embarrassed that you had never acknowledged the fact the two of you were playing palemates this entire time, you really do like Eridan. He is pitiable and somewhat of a loose cannon. And he _needs_ you. Even if he has not realized it yet.

You suddenly notice that Eridan is about a moment away from deciding he has been rejected. His fragile ego is collapsing. You make an annoyed noise in the back of your throat and reach out to pap his nose. The shock on his face would be priceless if it were not for the circumstances. He honestly thought you were going to turn him down. You scrape together what words you can, "Dumb Eridan. Yes. Eridan moirail." You wish you could communicate that he was an idiot for not asking sooner.

Seeing his face freeze and then light up is possibly the cutest thing ever. His eyes widen and sparkle, his facefins perk up, and a smile slowly spreads (marking the first time you have seen him actually smile). Unable to contain his glee, he makes a happy cooing noise and scoops you right out of the chair. Your squeak of surprise is totally manly and not in any way a reflection upon your character. Nor is the fact you are being crushed to a troll's chest and being spun around until your vision blurs an indication that you are little. Eridan is just big. By the time he sets you back down, your head is still spinning.

* * * * *

"Karkat! Did you hear that?" you turn to your guest excitedly. "He said yes!"

"I heard him call you a retard," remarks the landdweller dryly. "At least he knows what he is getting into. Now, are we going to fucking eat or what? I didn't get the stench of fresh fish on me to attract mates, you know."

"I'm gettin a quadrant filled an all you can think about is food?"

"Yeah, well I did just have to spend most the night in a fucking rowboat to get here," he growls. "Tell me again why you live out in the middle of shitass nowhere? Better yet, feed me and I will briskly return to critiquing your budding palerom."

You roll your eyes, "Yeah, that sure sounds awwesome. Wwe'vve still got some bread from breakfast. An plenty of fish." He groans, and you try not to smirk, "Just kiddin. I remember howw much you hate eatin fish all the time wwhen you vvisit. I should still havve a side a bacon in the pantry."

"Fuck yeah!" exclaims Karkat. "Oinkbeast is just the thing I want! You are sometimes an okay guy, Ampora." He is already heading for the pantry door.

"Karkat no!" John is suddenly darting by you to catch up to the troll.

"What is-" the landdweller cuts off as a small sack of flour drops down from the pantry door, dousing him in the white powder. The human slides to a halt, his hands still upraised as if to grab Karkat. The look on his face is a mixture of terror and amusement. You have no doubt that this particular mishap was meant for you. It would not be the first time something had mysteriously dropped down from the ceiling or other high places on you. (Although you still are trying to figure out where he got that little lobstrosity in the first place...)

You give a resigned sigh, "Also, wwatch your step. John apparently likes practical jokes. You don't evven wwanna knoww wwhat he did to the lowwer armory."

"You don't say," one red eye twitches. "John. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Your moirail (oh glub it is going to take awhile to get used to calling him that, even in your head) gives a little snicker, "Karkat -- ---. Uh. Karkat dirty. Bath-time."

You snort in surprise. Karkat tries to look offended for all of two seconds. Then you both break into hearty gales of laughter.

"Oh my Glub, I'm gonna bust a lung," you wipe some moisture from your eyes. "I'm not sure wwhether to scold him for the prank or praise him for his sass."

"Wow, I really would not have guessed he had it in him," snorts your friend. "Okay. That was a thing. I'm going to go waste all your hot water in the ablution trap. There had better be bacon on the table when I get back, asshole, or else I might have to think of some sort of revenge prank." He stalks off, pausing only long enough to snatch an apple from the table.

You watch him go with no small amount of trepidation. John's gags are mostly harmless, if embarrassing. Somehow you doubt that anything Karkat plans would be as innocuous. You turn to the human, "John. No more pranks. Bad John. You'd better clear those out until Karkat leavves. Clean up that mess wwhile you're at it."

"No more prank," he heaves a dramatic sigh and trots off to parts of the hive unknown. A part of you wonders just how many traps he already has set up, but the smarter part of you knows that you probably do not want to think about that too much. You had finally given up on hiding things that should never be used in practical jokes (like buckets) and moved on to simply letting John know that they were not to be even touched, let alone moved. He seems to have a better grasp on boundaries now, but the lower armory will forever be on quarantine.

* * * * *

"Hey, Eridan, where are the-" you stop mid-sentence when you catch the two palemates asleep in one of the reading chairs in the library. John still has a few papers loosely grasped in his hand, so it is a safe assumption that they had been working on building his vocabulary. Something you had stressed to Eridan was completely necessary for them to effectively communicate together. It absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that his limited grasp of Alternian had you often yelling in a fit. (Nor the fact that John is starting to pick up on your more colorful swears.)

Even as you watch, John makes a little snuffling noise and attempts to burrow further into Eridan's chest. The violent seatroll with the giant paws responds by grumbling and tightening his arm wrapped around the human. This is so cute it is disgusting. In fact, it might be the most disgustingly cute thing you have seen them do yet, and that is a hard-won title if there ever was one. Up to now you have seen them share food, blankets, scraps of paper, and on one occasion Ampora's stupid cape. John even suffered being picked up and toted around under one of the violetblood's arms like he was some sort of stuffed animal toy. However, this is the first time you have caught them napping together. You feel like a creep for just standing around watching them get their cuddle on.

"Eridan. Eridan. Eridan! ERIDAN MOTHERFUCKING AMPORA!" you scream. They both startle at the same time, an ungainly mess of flailing limbs and flying papers. The violetblood, of course, is snarling and lurching to his feet with claws at the ready. As for the human... he is dumped unceremoniously to the floor where he groans and rubs an eye.

He glares at you through his other eye, "Bad Karkat. Fucking nooksniffer."

The seadweller appears to finally have completely woken up, as he prods John lightly with his foot, "Wwatch yer language, John. You don't knoww wwhat you're saying. Evven though I agree completely. Wwhat the glub, Kar? I about ripped your throat out."

"Look, as awesome as it is to randomly find you guys getting all comfy on your pale honeymoon shit, I had an idea," you derail the conversation. "I started thinking about all those awful practical jokes John sets up." There is a brief pause where they both shift uncomfortably (John because of what you hope is guilt, and Eridan because he is always nervous about these pranks). "Yeah. I think the primary reason he is doing them is out of boredom. He's like a little nut creature with nothing to do all day but throw tree seeds at people who pass by. So we are going to start him on some training."

"Wwhat kind of training?" violet eyes narrow in suspicion.

"To give some grief," you state matter-of-factly. "It's a useful skill, and hopefully it will wear him down enough to where he does not have the energy to set up an elaborate creation of ropes and pulleys to string me up by my ankles when I walk by the medical bay. Yeah, fuck you, by the way. It took me half an hour to deploy my sickles just right to cut myself down."

"Kar, as nice as that sounds, John is still favoring his arm," points out Eridan. "I don't really want him doin anything that will cause _more_ injuries until his old ones heal up."

"Come on, Ampora," you roll your eyes. "I'm not saying we go all out on him. I'm pretty sure you could snap his neck with one hand. I'm just saying we take him on the deck and go a few light rounds. Let him get a feel for it. It's better than lazing about inside all night. What do you say, John?" You turn to the human who is watching the exchange with his frustratingly blank expression that means he is not catching any of the conversation, "John. You want to go play fight?"

"Game?" he perks up instantly.

"Yeah, a game," you nod. "See, he'll love it. Now, where the grubfucking Hell do you keep your old collection of practice weapons? I'm not going to put my limbs on the line if he whips out that fucking sledgehammer."

* * * * *

You have decided that Karkat is hilarious and needs to stay here forever. After realizing that he is just a loud individual prone to explosions of screaming rage, you quickly equated him to a small dog. Full of yapping and spitfire, but relatively harmless. In other words, the _perfect_ mark for pranks. Unfortunately, as you stand on the deck with a wooden straight sword in hand, you think you might have gone a bit overboard.

For the past five minutes, the smaller troll has taken a kind of sadistic pleasure from beating the everloving crap out of you. In all fairness, he had attempted to spar with Eridan first, but you had thought it was a real fight and tried to intervene. Finally the smaller troll had somehow convinced your moirail to go sit down on a barrel and watch the two of you duel (after taking away your hammer). Sadly, you are awful at swordplay. Atrocious, even. Your simple method of swinging with all your might worked with your hammer, but the lighter wood sword (little more than a glorified stick) is not a good alternative. Your swings left you horribly open, and often you still overshot your calculations and ended up spinning in circles if you did not connect. There just is not enough weight in this weapon to offset your movements.

Karkat, on the other hand, appears to have no problems in fighting with his two wooden short swords. They may not be curved like his sickles, but he still managed to swoop in with slashes that you are pretty sure would have killed you if they were real blades. As of the moment, your knuckles and ribs smart from the last few strokes he landed. Even as he approaches with that wary side-step, you get ready for another volley. He knocks you flat on your ass with a well-timed lunge to your abdomen, and you sit and wheeze for a moment. Then he scoffs. You may not know exactly what he is saying, but you recognize someone looking down on you when you see it.

Oh, it is _on_.

You get up and stalk off to the side toward Eridan. Even sitting on an overturned barrel he almost your height. Still, you give him your best serious face and put a hand out. When he raises an eyebrow, you curl your fingers in a 'give me' motion. He shakes his head stubbornly. You frown. Looks like you will have to find some way to make a hammer then. You glance about before you spot the stack of logs waiting to be split into firewood. That will have to work.

You spend about half a moment trying to decide how you are going to fix the log to the end of your glorified stick. Then you decide to go for style. You captalog the wooden sword, throw the log into the air, and eject your sword from your sylladex. The sword imbeds deeply, and appears lodged when you go to pick it up. Bam. Instant. Motherfucking. Hammer. You give it an experimental swing before deciding that this was already like fifty times better.

"John, no," the seatroll is lecturing you already. "No hammer."

"Wood hammer," you counter. "Wood!" You shake it as if to show him that you are right. It is still wood. You are right and he is going to shut up while you go beat his friend down with a log. A log on a stick. Oh how low you have fallen. Karkat appears to be holding in laughter as you return to the 'fighting arena.' You glare at him and repeat something he has been saying since he got here, "Shut up, [bad word of some kind]. Again."

Well that certainly wiped the grin off his face. Also, he is now charging you. You bring your makeshift hammer up with a full swing, aiming for his center of mass. He pulls up one of his swords to guard and you manage to knock him off balance anyway. He recovers with a pointed glare. You smirk. Then he rushes you again. This time your swing just clips him, so he adds another bruise to your growing collection. The two of you quickly separate and then lunge forward again. You are slightly annoyed at all this fuss and his smug attitude. You swing a little harder than you probably should. There is a horrible creaking, rending sound. Both of you drop your weapons from the recoil. One of the little swords is now a bunch of cracked shards, and the log is split evenly down the middle.

You stare at the weapons. Then you look at Karkat. He is frowning at them with a sort of disbelieving glower. Then he looks at you. You both frown and then turn to the seatroll. Karkat barks out a question, "Who won?"

"Uh..." Eridan stalls. "Both won. John won. Karkat won." You both glare at him. "...time for bed!" He swiftly gets to his feet and disappears down a nearby hatch. You and the smaller troll blankly stand there for a moment before you both start chuckling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smart move eridan. smart move.
> 
> so hey guys. this is your special valentines day update. hope you enjoyed the cuteness. also!! some news!! i now have a tumblr. so if you'd like to know when new chapters go up or if you have any questions.... i guess now you have somewhere else to turn to besides on here?? anyway. have a great day everyone~~
> 
> krisanderwrites.tumblr.com


	6. Chapter 6

You shuffle behind the guy made out of angry words and round edges, "I just don't understand wwhy you wwant to leavve so _early_."  
  
"Look, just because you have gotten lazy since you've stopped hunting does not mean the rest of the world has also started after the second moon has risen," retorts Karkat. "I want to get back to dry land before moonset, asshole. I still have to trek through the fucking desert to get to Kanaya's hive and give her a piece of my mind. I seriously cannot believe that she would ignore a plea for help. You must have written something weird."  
  
"Uh..." you try to think back, "I don't remember wwritin anything that odd. Although the wwhole thing does kind a sound like a bad romance novvel, noww that I think about it."  
  
"Hey, don't diss the romance," snarls your friend. "I am the king of all things relationship-related thanks to those books. Look, I will be back to check on you two in a couple weeks or so, okay? I've just got some shit to take care of first. And if she knows what's good for her, Kanaya will be here in a few days."  
  
"Wwho Karkat come back?" John rubs his eye tiredly.   
  
You tuck him up under your arm and he immediate wraps your cape around him like a cloak, "It's 'Wwhen wwill Karkat come back?' He wwill be gone for a little wwhile. Hmmm. Remember wweek? A couple wweeks." He makes a face at this. You cannot help but empathize with that disgruntled expression. Karkat has always been your lifeline when it came to quadrant stuff. For him to abandon you like this either meant he thought you were going to be fine or he was completely giving up on you.  
  
"You are both utterly pathetic," the landdweller sighs. "You will be fine, you bulgelicking morons. Just try not to drown or burn down the hive until I get back. Also, Kanaya will probably skin you alive when she arrives if you are still wearing that stupid cape." He hops over the side of the ship and begins to descend the rope ladder to the rocks below.  
  
"I _like_ the cape," you call down to him. "It's dashing. Besides, John likes it, too."   
  
Karkat simply flips you the finger and kicks his little dingy off from the rocks. You wonder how he has not punched a hole straight through the thing yet. He hops in before the boat gets too far and settles in to start rowing. It looks annoying. No wonder no one ever comes to visit. None of them like you _that_ much. You have _got_ to get a better transportation system. Still, the two of you are not standing on the deck for much longer when the tiny speck can no longer be seen in the distance.   
  
"Come on, John," you heave a sigh. "Let's go beloww."  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
Despite Eridan snoring away nearby, you are unable to fall asleep. With a huff, you get up, dragging a blanket with you for warmth. Perhaps a walk around the deck will help you settle down. If you knew where Imperious ran off to every morning, you would invite him to come along. Instead, you stop by one of the many supply areas and grab a fishing rod. Maybe you could catch something so Eridan would not be angry with you for being on the deck by yourself. It is not like you are going to swan dive off the side of the ship.  
  
You head up the stairs, already cheering up with the brisk evening air. Then you spot them. Three trolls on the deck, all much bigger than your last visitor. One of them even has fins, although he looks much more brutish than your seatroll. There is another one that has serrated-looking horns and something about that just does not look right. They stare at you for a moment as you stare at them, all of you frozen in place.   
  
"Um...hi?" you glance at each of them, wondering if Eridan knew that more of his friends were coming to visit. Surely he would have said something. Unless maybe Karkat did not get along with other trolls. He totally seemed like the antisocial type.   
  
One of them lunges at you, and you dodge to the side. He goes tumbling down the stairs as you drop your fishing rod and reach for your hammer... which is not in you strife deck. Shit. Eridan must still have it. What is with all of his friends wanting to attack you on first sight? You quickly captulog the fishing rod and blanket, scrambling to get back downstairs before one of them tackles you into a smear on the deck. Oh fuck the guy at the bottom of the stairs is getting up.   
  
You toss the first thing out of your sylladex, hoping that it is something you can weaponize. Of course, you have it in the wrong mode and it spits out the last thing you put in it- your blanket. In a moment of hilarious happenstance, it lands directly on the troll's head, tangling him up. You give him a wide berth, darting down the hall in the hopes to lose them in the labyrinthine passages. Unfortunately, something suddenly collides with the back of your legs, and you go tumbling right into a wall. Your head spins.    
  
Someone is picking you up by your forearms, making your injured arm flash into blinding pain. You are hauled completely off of your feet, your legs kicking uselessly against nothing. The stars clear from your vision and you see the female troll leaning in towards you. You attempt to jerk backwards, but you have no purchase dangling uselessly in the air. She laughs, and it sends a cold line down your spine. That is not a pleasant laugh. You are beginning to think that these trolls are not acquaintances of your moirail.  
  
All of you freeze when you hear the creak of wooden boards and a sleepy voice, "John?"  
  
"Eridan!" you call out. "Sto-mmph!" The woman clamps a hand over your mouth, cutting you off before you could finish warning him. The strange seatroll is aiming his crossbow at the very door Eridan's voice was drifting behind. This has turned into a deadly ambush, and your finned troll is about to walk right into it. You panic.   
  
You bite down on the female troll's hand as hard as you can, and as soon as her hand is clear you scream in your best Karkat-impression, "IMPERIOUS!"   
  
Instantly the door busts off its hinges, a pissed-off violetblood storming into the room with his rifle at the ready. The other seatroll fires his bolt, and it buries into Eridan's shoulder. He snarls but does not stop, immediately returning fire. The sound of the gunshot rings in your ears as the serrated-horned troll drops you to reach for his weapon. You tuck and roll the best that you can, the bitter taste of metal in your mouth. You must have drawn blood. Before you, Eridan is grappling with the blue-blooded woman, and the guy with the messed-up horns is advancing on them with a wicked-looking scimitar. The other violetblood is reloading his crossbow with a fresh bolt from where he is hunkered down on the floor.  
  
You eject the fishing pole from your inventory, creating a makeshift javelin. Direct hit! You stare at the violet blood welling from his hand. He snarls and looks at you, completely unphased. Oh shit. It only takes one hand to fire a crossbow. Aiming his weapon at you, he smirks. You have nowhere to run.   
  
In the nick of time, Imperious busts through the wall in a shower of broken boards and splinters.   
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"John?" you call out, feeling a little grumpy that he would not only leave the room, but then start to make such a racket. You really had wanted to sleep in this evening.   
  
"Eridan! Sto-mmph!" he calls out, his voice sounding extremely panicked. You instantly are on high alert. As silently as possible, you pop your weapon out of your strife deck and point it at the door. Part of you hopes that this is just some kind of perverse prank, but there is a chance that there is some sort of real danger going on behind that door. Your ears are straining to catch the slightest sound, when suddenly someone yelps in pain and your moirail yells.  
  
"IMPERIOUS!" he screams in the loudest voice you have ever heard him use. He is definitely in trouble. You kick the door down, sending it flying off its hinges. Waiting for you is a seatroll with a crossbow. Pathetic weapon. You take a bolt to the shoulder and squeeze the trigger to blast a hole in his side. Then you see the blueblood lunging at you and suddenly you are grappling with her. You snarl wordlessly into her face and she hisses in defiance. Something whizzes by you, but you do not have the time to glance away from your current fight.   
  
Then your lusus is breaking down one of your walls, shrieking and furious. You manage to overpower the landdweller and send her flying into a wall, turning just in time to dodge a wild swing from a jagged scimitar that has seen better days. You glance the oliveblood over before your eyes narrow. You know those retarded horns. A couple perigrees back you killed the large lizard lusus of a greenblood who fancied himself a roughannihilator. The teenager had managed to escape, but you had noted his modified horns- something no respectable troll would do (even Karkat put up with the ones he hatched out with). He is so beneath you it is laughable.  
  
"Eridan, hammer!" yells out John. Without even thinking about it, you launch his hammer out of your sylladex, straight at the oliveblood. It connects with his face with a satisfyingly wet crunch, sending him to the floor. Before he has even hit the ground, you are turning to take on whatever John is yelling about. Just in time to see a heavy white tail smash into a body with a burst of violet blood. Then you spot John's wide eyes and realize that he was about to be taken out by that seatroll; you send a thanks to the powers above as you rush to your little human.   
  
"John? Are you okay? You aren't hurt, right?" you lean over to pick him up, which is probably the only thing that saved you from being decapitated. As it is, the blade pinging off your horns is enough to make bright flashes appear before your eyes. Stunned, you collapse on top of John. He gives a pained huff before he starts scrambling to get free. You can sense the troll behind you, readying for another swing. This is bad. You need to move but you are still feeling shooting pains through your head and spine.   
  
Something ejects from John's sylladex right next to you, followed rapidly by several more things. You realize that he is stalling by trying to weaponize his sylladex. However, due to your protective nature and the fact he is so prone to self-injury, he probably does not have anything in there that really counts as a weapon. You force yourself to move past the pain and lurch to your feet, swiveling around drunkenly. The tealblood certainly does not look in good enough shape to be swinging that two-hander around. She angrily swipes at the random assortment of items launched at her, blocking them with her sword. Then you see the flour bag eject and you know this is the time to move.   
  
The flour explodes in a puff of white powder as soon as she slashes at the bag, temporarily blinding her. A well-aimed kick to the gut winds her completely, so you follow up with a punch to the temple. She goes down hard, and you make sure to fling her weapon as far away as you can. She is still breathing, which is more than you can say for the other two. You step down on her throat, just so she does not get any ideas.  
  
"Wwhere the fuck did you three come from?" you snarl. "I recognize the greenie from awwhile back, but evven you morons should knoww better than to followw a guy wwho fucks up his horns like that."  
  
"So this is the mighty lusus hunter?" she coughs up a bit of teal. "I guess Draggo was wrong. You don't look injured or deathly ill at all."  
  
"Wwhat the glub are you talkin about?" you sneer. "I'm wwell enough to fuckin kill you." You press down on your foot a little just to show her.   
  
"Nobody has seen the Terror in the Sky in awhile," she explains as soon as you let up. "W-we figured you were holing up somewhere to recover. We got here and you had a visitor, so we waited it out. We probably still could have taken you, but your stupid _pet_ had to-"  
  
You crush down your heel mercilessly, " _John is not a pet_."   
  
"Eridan!" your little moirail is tugging at your elbow. "Stop!"   
  
You glance down at John, "She insulted you, John. I should just-"   
  
His face becomes more firm, "No."  
  
"Aargh, fine," you remove your foot, turning back to the blueblood. "You're lucky my _moirail_ wwants me to not smear you all ovver the floor like grubsauce. I suggest you get the fuck outta my sight wwhile you are still breathin, Teal, because the next time he might not be there to see it."  
  
She scrambles to her feet, tripping over the refuse from John's earlier attack in her haste. She pauses at the door, "I do not make the same mistake twice. I will tell no one of this, and I will not come back." Then she is gone, only her footsteps thudding up the stairs as she runs. You sigh, knowing that you will never trust the word of some random troll that had just invaded your hive. Then you feel John pressing his face into your side. You glance down at him, then around the two of you.   
  
"You're not used to this kind of vviolence, are you?" you place a hand on top of his head. "Let's go get cleaned up. I wwill take care a this mess later."   
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
After you help Eridan remove the crossbow bolt from his shoulder and stitch up the wound, he tells you to stay in his room as he leaves. He probably is going to go get rid of the bodies. You shudder. This is a whole new side to your moirail. For him to kill those two trolls so easily, without so much as a second thought, he must be used to wantonly murdering people. Then again, those strangers did not look like they were pulling their shots either. You wonder if they had been desperate burglars or out for blood. Unable to stand thinking about it, you go to your pile and pull a blanket over your head.   
  
You hear Eridan's heavy footsteps, but you make no move to acknowledge his return. He calls your name, and you do your best impression of having not heard. With a huff, he simply scoops you out of your pile, blanket and all. You squeak and flail (in a totally manly way). By the time your head is free, he is halfway across the room. You go to protest, but he silences you with a growl. Okay then. You surmise that you are not allowed to have a say in whatever it is that the two of you are doing.   
  
He takes you clear across the hive to a little cranny that you would have walked right by a hundred times without really looking at it. With a kick, the oddly-placed wall swings inward to reveal a little room. There is a porthole to look outside, and a plush armchair and side table. He kicks the wall-door shut again, enclosing the two of you in the cramped space. Then he settles down in the chair, pulling you into his lap so you can see out the porthole. There is a small boat in the distance, and you realize that it is the troll that Eridan spared. He frowns at it for a moment, and you can practically see him trying to figure out what he wants to say versus what you can understand.  
  
He finally touches his chest, his expression remorseful, "Eridan bad. Eridan very bad." He looks at you with a sort of tired acceptance, "-- --- hurt lots. -- lots. Hmm. Fight. Fight lots. Win lots." It takes a moment for you to appreciate what he is saying. To your troll, this way of fighting to the death is a common occurrence. A common occurrence that he feels much guilt and remorse for. Your heart hurts for him. He points out the window, to the ship that you have to squint to see at all, "John good. Good moirail. Good person."  
  
You chew on your bottom lip as you try to think of a way to reply, "No." You hold up a hand with three fingers, "John bad." You put one finger down. "John bad." You put another finger down. "John bad." You press your palm gently over his wounded shoulder. Closely watching his face, you can see him swallow hard as his expression tries to betray his feelings. You know that he is struggling, so you cling to him, tucking your head up under his chin where you cannot see what he thinks of as weakness. "John bad. John try again. Do better next time."   
  
You do not move when his arms wrap tightly around you at the common phrase he tells you when you are struggling with a new word. Nor do you move when you feel the drops of moisture landing on your shoulders. You simply let him release his pent up emotions. Surprisingly, he is a quiet crier. He sniffles only once, and immediately growls as if to tell himself that was a bit _too_ sappy. After a few minutes, he has himself back under control but is still refusing to release you. Honestly, you are more than okay with that. You hope he understands. You realize now that being a moirail to a troll is a lot more serious than you thought, but you are not going to abandon him. It just meant that you would have to do a better job from now on.  
  
"Eridan try again, too. Do better next time," he finally murmurs.   
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"John, I'm not kidding around," you exasperatedly sigh. "Look, if it is not Karkat, I don't wwant you wwaltzin up to random trolls. Urgh. Neww trolls bad. Bad trolls attack, uh, fight you. Stay awway. Howw can you not understand that outside the hivve is dangerous?"  
  
He makes a face at you, "No bad troll." He returns to his very important task of climbing the mast. You were not even aware that he _could_ climb the damn thing, considering he had no claws. However, he seems to be doing just fine without them, somehow finding purchase in the tiniest nicks. From here he looks like a little bear cub up a tree.   
  
"John, come dowwn," you insist. "You are gonna hurt yourself!"   
  
He completely ignores you this time, simply scooting farther away. You growl and pace the deck, unsure if you should climb after him. You are not even sure what you would do if you caught up to him, seeing as how you would need both sets of claws in the wood. To make the situation even worse, Imperious is out grazing, so you cannot simply float up there and grab him. You end up just watching as he makes it all the way to the tilted crows nest. Then he disappears from view as he clambers inside the large barrel.   
  
"Joooohn!" you call out, frustrated. "Don't make me come up there after you!" There is still no response. Muttering a series of curses, you begin to swiftly clamber up the mast yourself, your claws leaving deep grooves. In no time at all, you have reached the glorified basket high in the air. You peek inside to see that your moirail has apparently set up a little nest. There are blankets and a couple pillows lining the wood planks, and he appears to be tacking some of his pictures to the short walls. Not a single thing about him looks abashed for making you so nervous.  
  
You clamber into the crows nest, surprised to find that you can comfortably fit in the cramped area, as long as John is in your lap. He mutters about being picked up, but simply goes back to decorating his little spot. When he is done, he surprises you with a book. You take the old battered thing from him, wondering where he had even found it.  
  
"Wwhat's this? 'The Adventures of Pupa Pan?' Oh man. I thought I got rid a this thing forevver ago. This is for little grubs, John," you inform him.   
  
He pouts, "Eridaaaan."   
  
You exasperatedly sigh, "Let me guess. You wwant me to read it to you. Wwhy? You can't evven understand most-"  
  
" _Eridaaaan_ ," he whines.   
  
With a groan, you crack open the book, "I'm beginnin to think you just like the sound a my vvoice. Fine. 'Chapter One. All pupas, except one, groww up. They soon knoww that they wwill groww up, and the wway Wwendy kneww wwas this.' So. Many. WW's. So many in that sentence. You don't evven knoww if I am still reading. I could just sit here an spout random wwords. Let me think a more wwords wwith WW's. Wwonder. Wwilliwwaww. That's a strong cold wwind off the mountains.  Powwwwoww. Oh my glub. I need to nevver say that one again. That wwas awwful."  
  
"Eridan. Eridan, no," John covers his face with his hands.   
  
"Alright, alright," you concede. "Wwhere wwas I? Right, Wwendy. 'One night wwhen she wwas one swweep old, she wwas playing in a garden..."  
  
*        *        *        *        *  
  
"Eridan," you plant your feet firmly on the deck. "Want swim."  
  
He balks, "Not now. Later John." He is always telling you later. You are beginning to believe that he has no intentions of ever allowing you in the water.   
  
"No later. Now," you cross your arms as best you can with the splint.  
  
He notes this, of course, and points, "Wait."  
  
You groan in frustration. It really is not Eridan's fault that he lives in the middle of the ocean, but you are used to being active pretty much constantly. On the island, you and Jade spent your days hunting or gathering or exploring. Once you had a job on the mainland, you worked in the kitchen most the day, mixing and kneading dough. Before the bakery, you had a brief period of job searching sprinkled with some street fighting (hey, you had to get money to eat somehow).   
  
Now, however, you are at the mercy of your overbearing moirail. The most you get to do every day is run around on the deck for a short time. Eridan never seems to leave the ship, and there is not exactly a whole lot of room for exercise. Eridan himself seems to prefer to remain sedentary if given the option. You wonder how he had ever managed to find all those weapons and treasures. Surely his shipwreck had not come with that kind of haul.  
  
In a moment of supreme frustration, you throw yourself to the floor and begin to roll around, "Neeeed swim." You switch to English, "I am soooo bored, Eridan. You have no idea how bored I am. If I was any more bored, I would be an actual board. Then you could use me to repair the ship and I would never leave. But until then I absolutely _cannot_ sit still any longer. I am going to literally explode. Is that what you want? Your poor palefriend to explode?"  
  
"John," Eridan is rubbing his forehead. "John, stop. Please stop. John. John stop now. John."  
  
You ignore him, continuing your rant, "That's it. I'm going to explode. It has been a fun run, Eridan, but I'm not going to make it. You have slain me with this last refusal to go do something besides lay about inside a ship all day. Not even a moving ship. If it was moving then maybe I could convince you to let me help with the sails or something. But no. It is a shipwreck. And I am stuck on it. Doing nothing. Forever."  
  
"Yes!" your moirail flings his hands up into the air. "Swim. John swim. Now please stop."  
  
"Yessss!" you spring back to your feet, already excited. You move to dart by him to the rope ladder when he suddenly grabs you by your shirt collar. You emit a wordless whine, pulling steadily towards the edge of the boat. You know you are not going to budge him, but it gets your point across.   
  
"Wait," he says. "Eridan swim, too. Together."  
  
"Yes!" you agree readily. Anything to get out into the water. You pull again and he shakes his head with a sigh. Picking you up, he swings you up onto his back. This has become so routine that you immediately wrap your arms around his neck. As much as riding piggy-back is awkward, it certainly beat him simply tucking you under an arm like you were a small child. Which he totally did regardless of whether or not you wanted or needed to be carried. No wonder you are going stir crazy!  
  
By the time he has descended the ladder, you are already jumping down so you can race over the jagged rocks. Although your boots have been missing in action since the shipwreck, you are more than okay with getting used to going barefoot again. Jade could probably run circles around you after three years of life off the island. Oh no! You were totally going to get fat! That is the last straw. Either Eridan is going to have to accept that you could take care of yourself, or you are making him come swim with you every single night.   
  
Quickly captchaloging your outfit (still some of Eridan's old clothes), you cannonball off a rock into the water. You resurface and squint to see what your troll is doing. He is frowning at you, squatting on the edge of his little rock formation. When you gesture with your good arm for him to join you, he heaves a great sigh. Spoilsport. With wicked intentions, you duck underwater and swim up to him. You break the surface right in front of him and squirt a stream of saltwater right into his face. Then, laughing at his stunned expression, you retreat farther into the waves again.   
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
By the time you have dragged John out of the water (quite literally), the moons are already well on their way to setting. You stumble inside, fully intending to take a quick rinse and then sleep like a log for the whole day. However, John is all wrinkly and disgruntled at being removed from the water, even after he redressed himself. He does his best to escape from your grasp, wriggling like a little grub. At the same time, he is trying to convince you to stay up a little longer.  
  
"Eridan, play!" he demands. "Swwim more. Eridaaaan. Oh! Fight! Eridan play fight!"  
  
"I think wwe'vve had enough runnin around today," you huff. "Wwe are not gonna grief right noww. You are actin like a purrbeast on catnip. Sloww dowwn." You make sure he is firmly tucked under your arm before you head inside, "There. First it is bath-time. Then wwe are gonna go the fuck to sleep."  
  
"Shitlicking moron," grumbles your moirail.  
  
"Jesus, John!" you exclaim. "You can't just _say_ stuff like that. You don't evven knoww wwhat it means. Bad wwords, John. Vvery bad wwords. I'm not gonna let you talk to Karkat anymore. Like evver."  
  
"Wwant Karkat," he kicks his legs a little, throwing a fit much like a pupa would. "Wwant play. No bed-time."  
  
"Yes, bed-time," you snap. "Bath-time an then bed-time or so help me I wwill glubbin strangle you. Or at least put some fuckin sedativves in your food. Actually...." He finally heaves a great sigh and goes limp, causing you to almost drop him. "Oh, jeez. You are wworse than a grub. Howw the Hell do lusii evver put up wwith this shit? John, please. Be good. Eridan is tired right noww. Wwe can play again next night."  
  
"Wwho yes?" he perks up a bit.   
  
"Yes," you confirm. "Noww. Wwill you go take a bath like a decent felloww?"  
  
"Yes," sighs John as he finally slides out of your grasp. He starts to stalk off towards one of the bathrooms before he pauses and turns to look at you, "Next night play." His expression is so deadly serious that you find yourself holding in laughter. Then he disappears around a corner, leaving you to go clean up on your own. However, finding something to keep John busy is rapidly climbing your list of chores. You dread to think of the possible pranks if you refuse to take him swimming as soon as the two of you wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> john is totally actin like a baby but cabin fever is understandable given the amount of time he has been stuck on that boat. also. eridan sayin words with lots of ws in them will forever be one of my favorite things haha!!
> 
> holy cow. how did i go so long without workin on this?? yeesh. real life needs to slow down a bit so i decided to take it easy for a few days and write. oh man how ive missed it. of course. i also am sick so hopefully my bleary-eyed editin comes out okay. if not... well i suppose i can come back later and fix it up


	7. Unexpected Guests

You yawn widely, tramping up the stairs to the deck. As much as you would prefer to sleep in, you have relegated the early evening time to get a bit of sunshine before the sun goes down. With Eridan's nocturnal habits, you really had started to miss the sun's warmth. Sometimes when you cannot sleep you lay on the wooden planks and sun yourself like a lizard, but those sleepless days are becoming fewer and fewer lately. You sit with your legs poking over the side of the ship, watching the sun slowly sink into the horizon.  
  
Eridan would probably throw a fit if he knew where you were, seeing as how it had only been a few days after the three strange trolls had attacked. You wish you could convince him that you are perfectly capable of defending yourself. Provided, of course, that he would let you have your hammer back. He had begrudgingly allowed you to put it back in your strife deck, but you had gotten the distinct impression that if you so much as pulled it out he would confiscate it again. Apparently one too many times waving it around had been enough to convince him that you were more of a danger to the ship and anything else around than anything would be to you.  
  
You are starting to nod off, dozing in the last of the warm rays. Eridan promised that the two of you could go swimming again. Well, mostly he just watches as you swim. Staring. And brooding. It is actually a little creepy at times. (You wonder if he is waiting for some sea creature to attack you.) For someone with actual gills, he sure does avoid the water a lot. It makes you wonder how he ever goes anywhere, since his ship is beached.   
  
"Good evening," someone says to you. That... sounded awfully unlike Eridan's usual nasally and rough voice. Definitely more feminine. Wait.  
  
Your eyes snap open immediately. There it is. Another strange troll. Standing a couple of yards away. You literally cannot go more than a few nights without some random troll strolling up onto the deck. You had not even heard her approaching. You scramble to your feet, intent on making sure that you can defend yourself properly should she decide to attack.   
  
"ERIDAN?" you call out, kind of worried. You are getting really tired of trolls attacking you. There is a loud, if somewhat muffled, thud followed by an explosion of what you are going to assume are curses. Your mysterious guest raises one perfect eyebrow and you wince as the sounds of an angry seatroll barreling up a flight of stairs grow louder. She opens her mouth to say something, but your moirail bursts onto the deck in a whirlwind of snarls and fangs and a wildly-swinging rifle.   
  
"Good evening, Eridan," the troll appears to be holding back a smile. He looks her over once and then seems to deflate. He sighs, lets his rifle droop, and grumbles to himself. Then he catches sight of you. Ah. Right. You were still supposed to be asleep in your pile. Shit.  
  
"John," he growls lowly, in that falsely-sweet voice of his. "Who you on deck?"  
  
"Uh..." your gaze shifts from him to the new troll and then back to him. "Good... evening?" He glares with enough venom that you know only this stranger is keeping him from giving you the harshest of scoldings. As it is, he is starting up one anyway.  
  
*        *        *        *        *  
  
"For the lovve of- I don't care if you run around all day, but wwhy can't you just stay in the fuckin hivve like I ask? You are gonna givve me a glubbin heart attack, John," you snarl as he continues to look sheepish. "You wwere asleep up here again, wweren't you? Wwhat wwere you gonna do if Kanaya attacked you? I swwear I'm gonna fuckin lock you in the brig wwhen I sleep. I mean it, you-"  
  
"Eridan, I must say that this seems like quite the overreaction," the jadeblood cuts in.  
  
You turn a baleful eye on her, "Oh no. Wwe don't need an auspistice, Kan. Wwe had a fuckin hivve invvasion four nights ago after Kar left. I'm tryin to get it through his thick skull that other trolls are not alwways friendly. Also, I just wwoke up."  
  
"I can tell," she pointedly stares at your sad state of disarray. "Do you mind putting away your weapon? It is beginning to make me feel rather ill at ease." You sigh and rub an eye before returning your rifle to your strife deck. "Thank you. Now, I understand that your request for books on human culture, although poorly worded to sound like a needy request for interaction, is genuine. Karkat informs me that you and John are moirails."  
  
"Yeah," you grumble, running a hand through your hair to set it to sorts. "Although right noww it is beginnin to feel like I'm his fuckin lusus."  
  
"I can see how the situation must be frustrating for you," she nods understandingly (which somehow makes your hackles rise.) "You have had to provide him with not only the duties of a moirail, but also the basics of language. It is indeed much like having a grub on your hands. I also note that you have not secured proper clothing for him."  
  
"Wwhat?" you frown. You glance over at John, who looks (clueless as always) tiny in your old clothes. "I don't exactly havve the skills or material to go makin him his owwn wwardrobe. An I havven't been to shore since he got here. Anywway, that's none of your business. Did you bring some books for me or not?"  
  
"I have done something even better," she replies. Turning, she calls out to someone, "Rose? The coast is clear, so to speak."  
  
"Rose?" you wrinkle your nose. "Howw is another troll gonna help?"  
  
"I hate to disappoint, Mr. Ampora," a girl's voice rises from the side of the ship, where she is climbing your rope ladder. A head of light-colored hair pops over the railing, quickly followed by the rest of a small human. She smooths out her lavender skirt and then smirks at you, "but I am not a troll."   
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
While you had been under the impression that most humans are much more social creatures than your kin, the young boy does not look at all thrilled to see your companion. In fact, he looks decidedly more anxious than he was before the seatroll stormed onto the deck. You send a significant glance in her direction, but Rose's only reply is a minute shake of her head. Apparently this is a conversation for later. She approaches elegantly in a slow, methodical way that you know is to give time for the other human to decide how he is going to react.  
  
He glances towards his moirail first, which is a concerning sign. Either he was uncertain of whether you and Rose were indeed friends, or he felt that he had to ask permission to even speak with someone besides Eridan. The former is understandable given recent events. The latter makes you want to shake the violetblood by his ridiculously pointed collar. However, the raven-haired boy does not wait for a signal and immediately looks back at Rose, who has now halted her approach a few feet away (which means she is now standing next to you).   
  
"Good evening, John," she smiles softly. You understand that she means to put him more at ease with a kind approach. Nevertheless, you are surprised to see that smile. It is a smile reserved usually for when you have done something she deems adorable or small, fluffy animals. Looking the teenager back over, however, you can definitely see some young purrbeast-like qualities. He certainly is small. You wonder if you can adapt any of your patterns for Karkat's clothing to his slighter frame.  
  
"G-good evvening," he replies, seeming somewhat flustered. You wrinkle your nose at the harsh 'v' you know he picked up from the seatroll as he continues, "Um, wwho?"   
  
"Oh goodness, how rude of me," a delicate hand partially covers her lips. "I never did introduce myself. I am Rose Lalonde. This is my matesprit, Kanaya Maryam. We are... acquaintances of Eridan."  
  
"Yeah, that one there wwon't be in his vvocabulary," the seatroll snarks. "It's okay, John. They're good. Karkat's friends."  
  
"Wwho Karkat back?" the boy immediately perks up, glancing from his moirail back to Rose.  
  
"I am afraid that we did not bring Karkat with us," your lavender-eyed human apologizes. "But Eridan brings up a valid point. You are a new learner of Alternian, and probably have trouble understanding it still. Is there another language we can converse in?" He stares at her for a moment, his lips moving as he tries to work out what she just said. Rose decides to take the initiative.   
  
"Parlez-vous français?"  
  
He grimaces, "Pas très bien."  
  
"C'est trop mauvais," she frowns. "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" At this he lets out a surprised burst of laughter, quickly covering his mouth and shaking his head. However, this seems to have been enough to loosen his tongue, as he immediately switches to another language. As much as you enjoy listening Rose talk, you have no idea what their conversation has turned to since the boy suddenly seems even more ill at ease than before.   
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"Please tell me you speak English," he is saying, "because if our choices are German or French we might as well just use Alternian. I mean, unless you happen to have some obscure islander jargon as well."  
  
"English will work perfectly," you reply. "I am surprised that you are more comfortable with it than French. I was under the impression that most ferals prefer-" You cut off suddenly, realizing that he has stiffened. Nothing about his posture suggests outright that he is feeling particularly defensive, but it is simply a sort of hunch. "I'm sorry. Have I said something to offend you?"  
  
He literally gives himself a small shake, "Oh, no! I'm the one who should apologize. It's just. That is not the most, um, polite of terms."  
  
You resist the urge to slam a palm into your forehead via la Karkat, "Ah. I'm afraid that would not have been part of my learning. I was told that it referred to the dark-skinned islander, but if it is a slur I will refrain from using it further."  
  
"Really?" he seems surprised.  
  
Part of you wonders who he had associated with before washing up onto this shipwreck, "Of course. It would be most uncouth of me to continue using a term that made you uncomfortable. I would like to delve into the devolution of this phrase into a slur later, but for now perhaps we should move on to other subjects.   
  
"Kanaya and I have come at the request of Karkat to teach you proper Alternian 'that does not involve the fishface's awful accent or my swearing,' according to him. I omitted the said swearing from that quote." You pause briefly as he snickers, "First, however, I believe I heard something about the two of you being attacked. Would you care to discuss the events or any effects they have had on your mental and emotional well-being?"  
  
"Um, what?" his eyebrows draw together in confusion. "I mean, I can tell you what happened if you want..."  
  
"I fancy myself a bit of a psychologist," you explain. "I enjoy learning about others' thoughts and feelings, and then guiding them to make appropriate decisions. It is a way of helping people help themselves. Of course, sometimes simply venting whatever you are thinking about at the time is the best method. We can have a session now, if you would like."  
  
"Can I take take you up on that at another time?" the boy uneasily shifts his footing, displaying his nervousness.   
  
"Certainly," you acquiesce (although you will certainly be bringing it up again later, should he forget). "Might I make an observation?" He nods, still apprehensive. "You appear to be squinting quite frequently. Are you by any chance close-sighted?"  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"Oh," you state. Somehow this blonde that looks pale and delicate enough to be a noble keeps throwing you off balance. The question itself seems harmless enough. The girl on the other hand, made you slightly anxious. Nothing good ever came from associating with the higher class. "Yeah, my eyesight is not the best, but it really doesn't bother me all that much."  
  
"Hmmm," she hums thoughtfully to herself. "I will see if we can rectify this matter." Then she is turning partially to the side to speak with the trolls. In Alternian. The conversation gets fairly animated, but you do not catch most of it. You are really starting to feel left out whenever there is someone else around for your moirail to talk to. Then he is slouching back down the stairs as if he had been scolded, leaving you on the deck with the women. Wait. What did she mean by rectify?  
  
"Um, Rose?" you catch her attention.  
  
"Oh, my apologizes," she turns back to you. "Were you unable to follow any of that?"  
  
"Not much," you shake your head. "I get more of... I guess I get the general understanding of what is going on. You asked him for something, I think. He said something like he would get it and be right back, anyway. It's a bit easier to understand him, I'm afraid."  
  
At this she frowns slightly, "That in itself is a miracle. Besides the harsh accent, his grammar is atrocious. Between him and Karkat, I am somewhat afraid to find out what you have learned."  
  
You chuckle nervously, "I'm sure it's not _that_ bad. I mean. Most of what I know are object names, verbs, and a couple phrases; so really I can't have learned too many things wrong."  
  
"John," she stares at you blankly. "You have been to the mainland, yes?" When you nod she continues, "Imagine Kanaya and I as speaking proper Prospitian English as scholars. In this example, Eridan would be speaking dockside Dersite slang and Karkat would be that one sailor who learned proper English but still swears profusely."  
  
"...oh," you let that sink in for a moment. "So... that now makes a lot of sense. Eridan gets really mad when I repeat things I heard Karkat say. Oh dear. I've probably been insulting his mother. Or the troll equivalent of a mother. Whatever."  
  
Her lips twitch as if she is attempting not to smile, "That would be a mothergrub. If you are interested in the details of troll reproduction, we can discuss them at your leisure."  
  
"No!" you panic (just a little). "No, that is quite alright. I don't think that is necessary for-" Eridan chooses this exact moment to reappear, sulking over with a box in his hands. You eye it suspiciously as he opens it and rummages around in the contents. Then he is shoving something onto your face and you are wincing because everything just went _hard_ and your eyes hurt. "Whoa!" You pull off the glasses, "Were these yours, Eridan? I hate to tell you this, but you're nearly blind. Or you were. Why don't you wear glasses now?"  
  
Rose (you are assuming) translates for you, and Eridan growls wordlessly as he hands you another pair of glasses. You try these on as well, "A little better." They are being snatched from you as soon as you speak, and another set carefully put in their place, "How many pairs of these do you even _have_? I mean- hey! I can see the far rocks! Wow, these are... Whoa. I can see _everything_!" You do not miss the chuckles as you tip the glasses up and then lower them again to compare. "Okay. I take it back. I am also kind of blind. Sheesh!"  
  
"I take it then that you are satisfied with those?" Rose full-on smirks. "Eridan apparently slowly grew out of his need to wear glasses. Either that or at some point his vanity outgrew his need to fire his weapon."  
  
"Speaking from experience, his aim is still really accurate," you bat his hand away from trying to flatten your hair. "Eridan! You _know_ that is pointless." You switch to Alternian, "Stop. Eridan. Hey!"   
  
"John, be good," he combs his fingers through your hair one last time.   
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"I understand that we caught the two of you unaware," Kanaya interrupts your important task of trying to tame your moirail's unruly locks. "Would the two of you prefer to have some time to make yourselves more presentable for company?"  
  
"Wwhat does it look like I'm tryin to do?" you growl. "His hair is a fuckin nightmare, Kan. It's possibly wworse than Karkat's tangled mane."  
  
"I was referring to your attire," she amends. "John is excused since he only has what your six sweep old self thought was fashionable. However, now that I consider it, I do believe that Karkat mentioned you had been, in his words, 'moping.' Would that have anything to do with your general lack of narcissistic attention to detail?"  
  
You heave a sigh and give up on John's hair, "Look. I already heard this from Kar. I don't wwanna hear it from you, too. It's just been a couple a rough wweeks. That and I really didn't think you wwere actually gonna come. I mean. Last time wwe saww each other you tried to cut me in half."  
  
"Really?" the blonde human suddenly looks very interested in your conversation. You had forgotten that she was fluent in Alternian. You had gotten too used to John, who is still staring at things like he has never actually seen them before (which, now that you think about it, might actually be accurate). You wonder how you never questioned his squinting gaze. Now with his eyes wide open, it is easy to tell that their vibrant blue is leaning more towards the indigo range than the cerulean. You wonder if that makes him a highblood human.   
  
She shrugs lightly, "There was a minor disagreement that nearly broke out into grief. I do believe that it was settled quite nicely. Unless you are intending to bring up those incidents as a way of proposing black to me. Again."  
  
"No, I think I got yer answwer loud an glubbin clear the first time," you broaden your shoulders just a bit (no sense in looking attackable with the jadeblood around). "So... Kar did tell you I don't havve a spare 'coon lyin around, right? An I'm outta shit to make a decent pile, too. Unless you wwant to reuse Kar's, that is."   
  
"I made certain we came prepared," the Jadeblood just smiles faintly. "My sylladex has everything we could possibly need. I also took the liberty of gathering some supplies Karkat noticed you were running low on, such as medicinal herbs and fresh fruits and vegetables."  
  
"O-oh," you are a little taken aback.  
  
"I only went out of my way for you poor moirail," she quickly assures you. "Good nutrition is vital to speeding recovery times."  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"Speaking of which, it does take humans a little longer to heal than trolls," Rose cuts into your conversation before it could get any more awkward. You know she senses your thankful expression as she continues, "John was right to keep his arm as immobile as possible while the bones heal. If all goes well, he should be able to start using it again in a week or two; although it will take some time for his full strength to come back." She turns and updates John on the discussion.  
  
Eridan's face fins fan out at the good news, "Really? I wwas startin to get pretty wworried about that."  
  
"I also brought fabrics and sewing supplies," you continue. "I am not doing any of this for free, however. You are paying double my regular fee, since I had to row out to the middle of the ocean. Also..." You eye his ridiculous cape.  
  
"The cape is stayin!" he snaps. "My wwardrobe is perfectly fine, thank you."  
  
"Eridan Ampora," you stare him dead in the eye, "you sense of fashion is so atrocious I am fairly sure you could be culled for it. Your _cape_ has a popped collar."  
  
"Wwell it's stayin," he fairly snarls at you. "'Sides, John likes it."   
  
"Oh really?" you quirk an eyebrow. You can see him rethinking his defense as Rose asks the boy himself what his opinion is. From the scrunched nose and twinkling eyes, you are guessing that his response is more one of amusement.  
  
"Apparently John appreciates it as 'a portable blanket attached to his moirail,' but he also finds it ridiculous," she translates. "He also says that if Eridan wants to keep it then you are not allowed to pick on him, Kanaya. That is 'his job.' Speaking of blankets, perhaps we should move below. John is starting to shiver."  
  
"Ah, shit," the seatroll sniffs the air. "There's a cold front comin in. Wwe wwere supposed to go swwimmin this evvening."  
  
"Wwho Swwim?" John immediately catches that comment, much to his moirail's distress.  
  
"Motherfu- no!" he snaps. "Wwe are _not_ goin to go swimmin in a fuckin storm. Not safe, John. Unless you don't remember howw you ended up here in the first place." At his outburst, the human's blue eyes narrow.   
  
"I am quite certain we can find some indoor activities to keep ourselves busy until the storm blows over," Rose immediately mediates. She turns to John and speaks to him for a moment, probably giving him some options of enterprises to embark on.  
  
"I highly suggest that the first thing we do is work on the wardrobe situation," you purse your lips. "Those overly large clothes are obviously not efficient at keeping him warm."  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"How much longer, Rose?" whines the boy for the third time. It appears that after a rather short adjustment period, he is much more comfortable in your presence.   
  
"This is only her fifth outfit, John," you remind him. "She could perhaps be convinced to make you no less than seven for tonight. It is very rare that she has someone new to create an entire wardrobe for, after all." At this he groans and slumps on the stool he is standing on.   
  
"John, I must insist that you stand up straight," Kanaya tugs lightly at his collar. "I have not yet finished pinning the fabric for this outfit. Ampora. I see you lurking in the doorway. Is there something you require?" At the mention of his moirail, John is immediately craning his neck around to see him.  
  
"Eridan!" he reaches out with one arm. "Help!"  
  
"Alright I think you wwomen havve tortured him enough for tonight," the seatroll strides into the room. "If you make him sit still any longer he wwill bloww a gasket. Here wwe go." To your surprise, he simply curls an arm around the boy's waist and picks him up, tucking him under his arm like a package. Although John kicks his feet a little at the sudden response and emits an irate 'Hey!,' he then sighs. Apparently at some point he had resigned himself to being toted around in such a manner.   
  
You follow the seadweller as he walks back out into the hall, "I must say I am quite surprised to see that you put up with such treatment."  
  
John balefully eyes you, "Well, when I finally hit my growth spurt maybe people will stop treating me like a child. Also, I think he's upset that you girls separated us for so long. He got really grabby whenever Karkat and I would go off and try to do stuff together, too."  
  
"It could be that he is worried about losing you," you remark. "From what I understand, he has not been the most successful troll in his romantic endeavors. I would really like to-"  
  
"Wwould you twwo stop that!" interrupts the violetblood as he whirls around to face you. Poor John is now facing the opposite direction as his moirail continues, "I thought the wwhole point a you vvisitin wwas to teach him Alternian! Noww wwhenevver he talks its all _human_. That's not glubbin helping!"  
  
"I apologize," you glance down to smooth out a nonexistent wrinkle from your skirt. "I did not consider how left out you must feel when you are unable to understand the conversations around you." You lift up you head to give him a significant look.  
  
After a few moments he appears to deflate a little bit, "...oh."  
  
You decide that he understands enough for you to continue, "Your moirail is probably just happy to have someone who can fully understand what he is trying to communicate. He does not mean to leave you out of our discussions. Rather, he likely assumes that I am acting more as a translator than I have been. Also, might I suggest to not smother the boy? Neither Kanaya nor I have any intentions of stealing your quadrant."   
  
His gaze lowers to the kicking feet of his moirail. "He acts like such a grub," he mutters as he carefully sets John down. In a flash, the raven-haired boy has captchalogged the swaths of blue fabric Kanaya had been working on with a sigh of relief.   
  
"Perhaps he would act out less if he were able to communicate what he wanted," you point out. "Right now, the pins in the fabric were probably making it rather uncomfortable for him to be carried in such a fashion. It also might be an affront to his pride to be hauled around like an over-sized grub's toy."  
  
Eridan rubs the back of his neck a bit ruefully, "It's just been the easiest wway to get him from one place to another. Especially wwhen he has this really nasty habit of wwanderin off. I just... I wwant him to _stay safe_. It feels like there is alwways somethin tryin to hurt him."  
  
Your curiosity is piqued, "Do go on."  
  
*       *       *       *  
  
"What was his name?"   
  
"Hmm?" you snap back to attention. Hopefully you had not missed out on anything too important in their conversation. There had not been much that you could pick up in the first place.  
  
"The man that tried to kill Eridan," she clarifies. "The sailor with one arm."  
  
"Oh, you mean Brooks," you answer.   
  
"He was one of the sailors on your vessel, was he not?"  
  
"Not one of the ones I normally dealt with," you shrug. "He kinda... well, let's just say he was not fond of 'ferals on the ship.' So I mostly avoided him. Is this about Eridan killing him? Because I kind of figured that one out already, and I'm not upset about it. The man was insane and literally trying to murder us in our sleep."  
  
"I see," she muses. "That would make you the only survivor of the shipwreck then, correct?"  
  
"As far as I know," you frown. "We hit the rocks pretty hard during the storm. Unless there is somewhere nearby for anyone to have washed up..."  
  
"You seem pretty cavalier about this," notes the girl. "Are you sure that you are not traumatized by this event, or the subsequent attack by the three trolls?"  
  
You blink, "Ah... I don't... think so? I mean. There is not anything I can really do about the people who are already dead. The gods take care of those. All we can do is look after the living. And make sure the giant trigger-happy troll does not turn any of the latter into the former."  
  
She stares at you for a moment, appraising you with those strangely light-purple eyes. Then she hums, "You have a most practical outlook. I do have one more question, however." You motion for her to go ahead and she asks, "You obviously are not fond of sailors or a sailor yourself. Why were you on the ship in the first place?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaaay kanaya and rose are here!! and whats this?? another random cut-off point?? ....im sorry i just was so done with this chapter.


	8. The Isle of Lusii

John is still yammering a mile a minute as Rose attempts to mediate, "Eridan. Did you know anything about a sister named Jade?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," you think back, "that's John's littermate, right?"  
  
"Humans usually refer to them as siblings," she corrects you. "It appears that John was on that ship to return to his home island because his ancestor was very ill. This would mean that his sister is alone. Apparently on an island of 'white monsters like Imperious,' although I am not sure what he is referring to with that phrase. In any case, he believes it is dangerous for her to be on her own. He claims that you have not allowed him to leave, even when he asked if you could come as well."  
  
"Wwait," you frown. "Wwhen he wwas asking to leavve... he meant to go find his litter-er, his sister, because he wwas wworried about her gettin eaten by lusii?"  
  
"What do you mean by eaten by lusii?" asks the girl. "You are not referring to wild lusii, are you? Because those are quite dangerous and to be avoided. Especially by what I am assuming is a young girl."  
  
"Oh. Oh Glub," your jaw slowly drops. "He wwanted to go back home to help her. Oh my God. Rose. Rose, he greww up on a _breeding isle_. Full a pissed off, wwild lusii."  
  
She visibly pales, although you would have not thought it possible with how lightly she is colored already, "Oh dear." She turns back to John and interrupts him in the middle of a sentence. Their exchange is rapid (and rather animated on the boy's side). "Okay. It sounds like John has a fairly good understanding of navigation but formerly lacked the ability to see some of the stars. With a little work and some maps, we should be able to pinpoint the island's location."  
  
"H-hang on a second," you stammer. "Wwe can't just barge into a breeding isle. Wwell, I mean, _I_ probably can, but not you and definitely not John. He's still injured, in case you hadn't noticed."  
  
"Eridan," Rose's face becomes hard and stony, "I know that you do not understand the bond between siblings, but this is extremely important to John. This is his _sister_. She is his family. While I agree that we need to do some planning to ensure the best outcome, if anything happens to her, he will likely blame you for it."  
  
"Noww wwait a second," you hold up a hand to halt her. "She's still got their wwolf lusus to look after her, evven if their ancestor is not around to help protect the hivve anymore."  
  
"Eridan," she looks at you as if you are the dumbest troll she has ever met. "Humans do not even _have_ lusii." Well. Shit.  
  
*       *       *       *       *       *  
  
When you finish the tunic you had been busy sewing, you decide that perhaps it is time to go see what the others are up to. You sincerely hope that they have not gotten into any trouble. Although you know that Rose is a most excellent mediator, you do not trust Ampora at all. That seatroll is constantly stirring up chaos wherever he goes, heedless to everyone's feelings but his own. Unsurprisingly, you find the three of them having an animated discussion, all talking over each other in their attempts to be heard over the other two.  
  
"Rose! Gentlemen!" you step between your matesprit and the highblood. "Please calm yourselves. May I inquire as to what your very lively conversation is about?"  
  
"We are discussing the logistics of a rescue party," the girl states, simple and to the point. When you motion for her to continue, she elaborates further, "John and his sister grew up on a lusii breeding island. He was on his way to her and their ill ancestor when the ship wrecked, leaving him stranded here. Since Eridan is obstinately refusing to leave his hive-"  
  
"Oy! It's my hivve and I'm bloody wwell stayin!" he interrupts.  
  
"I heard you the first time," she sighs. "Since he refuses to leave and a breeding isle is not exactly the safest place to begin with, we are attempting to determine the best way of locating the island to retrieve John's sibling and their ailing ancestor and bring them here until further arrangements can be made."  
  
You frown, "Why is this only being discussed now? Assuming, of course, that this rescue mission has a timeframe that requires action sooner rather than later."  
  
At this, the blonde glares at the violetblood, "Apparently John was unable to get across how important it was to secure his sister's safety, so Eridan had denied his pleas to travel."  
  
"I thought she wwas safe!" he splutters indignantly. "If it's wwhite an on a breeding isle, a course I thought it wwas a lusus! Anywway, wwe still can't leavve John alone. Nor am I takin him wwith us. He's liable to get himself hurt more, or wworse."  
  
"Then might I suggest a compromise?" you offer. When the two of them look to you, you continue, "Ampora and I will go off in search of John's hive and his family, while Rose and John remain here. It would be much safer for two trolls to deal with lusii, and this way John is not left alone here." They appear to consider your proposal.  
  
Rose nods, "This is the most logical proposition." She turns to update John on the discussion.  
  
"I'm still goin to havve to lock up most the hivve," grumbles the seatroll. "All the armory rooms and Vvris's old doomsday devvices. He gets into literally evverything that's not bolted-"  
  
"No," John suddenly states, as serious as can be. He steps up to his moirail, standing straight and tall (and with his narrow chest puffed out just a bit), well, as tall as a human even shorter than your Rose can be. "John go, too." The set to his jaw is firm and his very blue eyes glint behind Eridan's old glasses. It is strange to note that despite his obviously small stature and usually jovial demeanor that he can have a very demanding presence when he chooses to. You have witnessed your matesprit doing the same thing on occasion; she remarked that it is the signature of her noble birth. She simply makes demands because she expects them to be fulfilled.  
  
Eridan appears to be unphased by this sudden change.  
  
"No, you are _not_ coming," he growls. "This is not up for discussion, John. You're stayin here." For a moment it looks like the human is about to respond, but then he whirls away with a huff. As he stalks off muttering under his breath, you watch the violetblood. The uncertainty is stamped clearly on his face as his facefins droop. He catches you staring, "Okay, so maybe that wwasn't the best wway to handle it. I get it. Budge outta our business before I- Wwait. Is he goin topside? JOHN!" The way he scrambles into motion would be hilarious if not for the obvious panic.  
  
"He would not be doing something rash, would he?" you ask Rose.  
  
Her face is grim, "I suggest we follow Ampora." She hustles after the nearly-sprinting seatroll, so you hurry after them. By the time you have made it back onto the deck, you note that John is already somehow managed to drag a small dinghy (likely a lifeboat from the vessels' floating days) to the edge of the ship. Ampora has caught up to him and sunken his claws into the wood, leaving the two of them in a struggle over the tiny boat.  
  
"John! You let go a this glubbin rowwboat before I knock you flat!" the seatroll is snarling. "Wwhat part a this idea seems good, huh? Howw the fuck are you evven gonna roww wwith only one arm?"  
  
"Eridan!" John's voice is low and gruff, almost a growl. "Let go! John's boat. John's Jade. John go." When the troll responds with a wordless noise of rage and practically jerks the dinghy a whole pace back, the boy turns to Rose in exasperation and quickly fires off some sentences. She replies, which makes him furrow his brows in annoyance as he continues.  
  
"John would like for me to 'explain better' how he is 'not going to sit on his ass and wait.' Apparently he sees it as _his_ job to rescue his sister and is very upset that you two would even consider leaving him behind," she begrudgingly explains. "I have tried to reason with him, to no avail. This might be some sort of affront to his adulthood, or perhaps a general concern for being coddled."  
  
John then gets a look. Not quite like he was scheming, but that he had an ace up his sleeve. He and Rose once again confer together, leaving you two trolls out of the loop.  
  
"Also, there is apparently the fact that his sister _might_ try to shoot you, considering the fact that you are strangers," Rose finally fills the two of you in. "Not to mention neither of you speak English, and I very much doubt she would be willing to pack up and leave under duress. So basically, either one of us has to remain here alone, or we are both going with you."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You have to admit that you think John has some very reasonable points, but neither of the trolls look pleased with this new change of plans. They start to work out logistics for supplies and tactics for surviving on the island, so you and John go to some maps to plot your course. It does not take long to realize that the island he lives on is not marked anywhere on the parchments.  
  
"It's not like it's that small of an island!" he frowns, looking again at the coast as you peruse the star charts. "And I _know_ that we have had ships stop by for supplies as they head from Prospit to Derse, so _someone_ has to know where it is."  
  
"Are you quite sure that you know the route they were taking?" you question.  
  
Nodding, he points, "This is where the first ship made port. They were coming from... here. And the second ship was from here and going here. So making two roughly straight lines, they intersect.... there. So within a short distance of that point is where it should be.... but nothing is on any of these maps for miles and miles."  
  
Ignoring his vague use of terminology, you note that he is indeed correct. There appears to be nothing that could even vaguely be considered an island. Either this was an island that was left off the maps due to no one considering it important, or it was left of _because_ it was too important. Neither option particularly appeals to you. Something about this whole ordeal reeks of politics and if there is one thing you would rather avoid at the moment it is more of the same petty squabbling you have always known.  
  
"Well, then the intersection point will just have to suffice as a place to begin our search," you muse aloud. "If we take the sailboat, we should be fine. It actually is not too far from where we are." You point out to him where Eridan had drawn a dark 'X' on the map in the ocean. His eyes jump from map to map for a moment.  
  
"Are you _kidding_ me?" he checks yet again. "That's like half a day from here! Half a night! Whatever! The point is, we were _right here_ the entire time. I am going to _fillet_ Eridan if anything has happened to Jade. Okay, probably not. But I will at least be very stern with him."  
  
You can feel your expression softening, "You are very worried about her."  
  
"Well, yeah," John suddenly looks very uncomfortable. "Even on a good day the island is pretty dangerous. And if Grandpa is sick and Jade has to go out and do everything herself.... I mean, she can take care of herself, but still. The sailors used to call it 'Hellmurder Island' and we always had to bring supplies to them because they wouldn't step off their ships."  
  
"This is sounding more and more fascinating," you lean on the table and place your chin in your hand. "Are there no other people who call this island home?"  
  
"Nope," answers the boy blithely. "Just me, Jade, Grandpa, and Bec- Jade's dog. Everything else on the island is either one of those white monsters or wild animals. More of the former, really."  
  
"Trolls refer to them as lusii," you explain by instinct. "The ones on your island are wild breeding pairs and their young, but trolls use them as a way to raise pupas."  
  
"Wh-what?!" he seems shocked. "I mean. Imperious is definitely the least aggressive one I've ever met, but I assumed it was like- domestication or something. Different species or subspecies maybe? But thinking about some of those.... erm.... wild lusii- erk. Yeah. Definitely would not let them anywhere near a baby of any kind." He gives a slight shudder and you decide not to push the conversation any further. After all, there would be plenty of time on the trip to the island to dissect his fears.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"It appears that we are already packed and ready to go," Rose informs you. "We are going to sail through the morning and hopefully arrive at the island before the afternoon. Eridan and Kanya suggested that we take shifts sleeping and steering so that we are all fresh when we arrive. I assume that once we touch down you will lead us?"  
  
You nod, "Yeah, things shouldn't have changed _that_ much in three years. Some of the old paths may be overgrown but I wasn't expecting us to travel full-tilt anyway." You flex your hand of your injured arm a bit, still testing it slowly to see how much use you could get out of it in an emergency situation. The answer is not much, provided you wanted to not break it again. Drat. Looked like you were going to be spending most of your time in the least-safe place on the island- the ground.  
  
Eridan swats your head lightly when he notices what you are doing, and you stick your tongue out at him. Then he picks you up by the scruff of your tunic and deposits you into the boat. Even as you indignantly call out, he begins to lower it into the water. Rose looks overly smug for your tastes, as if she were a cat that had just caught a songbird. She pats the empty bench next to her and you decide to sit before the swaying of a rapidly-descending boat knocks you on your ass. As soon as the vessel has hit the water, though, you are up and about again.  
  
You at least know enough to set up the sail on the mast and drop the rudder, and by the time you finish that Eridan is already taking over. It takes no time at all for you all to be under way, the breeze swiftly carrying you away from the shipwreck that you have come to call home. After a few moments longer, Eridan shoos you to go sit down since there is not much help he needs to man the small vessel. You end up sitting next to Rose again, Kanaya on her other side.  
  
"Are you quite prepared for your return trip?" asks Rose.  
  
"Well, we shall see how it goes," you shrug. "With any luck, we won't run into too many whi- err, lusii- when we land. The semi-aquatic ones are honestly the worst. Those _kambing -ikan_... er the goat-fish-things, for example. I don't know if English has a word for it. They are pretty vicious."  
  
"Do you mean a Capricorn?" she tilts her head slightly. "The front half of a goat and the bottom one of a fish?"  
  
You nod, "Yeah, those. They are extremely aggressive and hardy. It is best to simply run from those and not even attempt to fight. With others, sometimes running is the worst thing you can do. It all depends on the kind you run into, really. Hopefully we don't see any of them."  
  
"Well, I am not sure statistically how likely that is with the distance we have to travel and the density of lusii on the isle, but I am sure we four are more than capable of handling whatever comes our way," she reassures you. Although you have your own personal doubts, you know better than to let it show on your face. Outsiders just never understood. (In fact, there has only been one person who did not live on the island who ever understood, and he was your cousin.) You only hope that your new friends do not have to learn how dangerous the island is the hard way.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You try not to be put out by the conversation that John and Rose are having, entirely in that human language that sounds too soft and mushy for your tastes. But being out on the sea reminds you how much you hate traveling with stormy weather on the way. The pressure changes in the air make your horns ache and put you on edge. If you can reach the island in a few hours, then you might be able to wait out the storm in the jungle. That at least would be preferable to a small boat that could be easily capsized by large waves. At least the winds were favorable.  
  
The longer you guide the boat, though, the more obvious it becomes that the storm is simply biding its time. It feels rather ominous to have even the weather waiting on your arrival, and you can only hope that John's unease is entirely unwarranted. After all, wild lusii were much less likely to randomly attack trolls than humans. You think. Just in case, you brought along Ahab's Crosshairs. It could punch a nice hole through just about any lusus's hide.  
  
John eventually makes you go rest so that he can take over guiding the boat, and you awkwardly sit down in his former spot next to the Rose human. You try really hard not to snicker at how his feet barely scrape the ground when he turns the boom. Okay, so not all that hard. You do wonder though if you should have insisted that Kanaya made him some boots before this endeavor. Unprotected feet in a hostile environment could be extremely detrimental.  
  
"He certainly has a way of getting things done regardless of his lack of stature," the light-haired girl states, a hint of a smile perhaps on her face.  
  
You gruffly reply, "He's not wweak, just little. He'll fill out soon enough." You suddenly realize that you do not even know if this is true. Do humans even grow at the same rates as trolls? Even if they do, it would really depend on where on the spectrum he fell. A rustblood likely would not get much bigger, but a greenblood would. "Err, wwon't he?"  
  
She smirks, "Of course. He is only an adolescent and likely to hit another growth spurt or two. Exactly how big he will get depends on genetics, though. Islanders are not known for being particularly large folk." You frown at this. As much as you enjoy being able to tote around your moirail under an arm, the idea that he might never grow much bigger disturbs you. You attribute this to the fact that (being so small) he just looks so... breakable. It is hard enough to keep him safe when he constantly wants to go out into the world and do things; it just is not fair that the world is so much larger than him.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"I am sure there is nothing to worry about," you quickly intervene in the conversation, already knowing where the hulking seatroll's thoughts are headed. "John appears most resilient."  
  
"Yeah, shore- err, sure," he grumbles, obviously not convinced. The slip of the nautical-themed pun, however, reveals just how put off he is. According to Karkat, he had been trying to break himself of the habit since he and the Heiress broke up.  
  
"He does seem to acclimate well," Rose nods her head in the boy's direction.  
  
He had found a length of rope to wrap around the boom and was using this to forcibly drag it in the direction he wished. With a firm foothold, he is having a much better time of putting his upper body strength to use. As he slips on a patch of wet wood, you almost leap to your feet, but he soon proves that he has a handle on the situation.  
  
"You cannot simply do everything for him," continues Rose. "You have to let him prove that he is quite capable of handling things on his own. Otherwise you will doubtlessly continue to treat him like a pupa."  
  
"He _is_ practically a pupa," retorts Eridan, "but I see your point. He had to manage to stay alivve before he met me _somehoww_ or another. It's just... gonna be hard."  
  
"No one ever said that the pale quadrant was easy," you chide him lightly. "But perhaps we should continue this discussion at another time. I do believe that the expression goes, 'Land ho,' yes?"  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
When John had said that his island was a veritable jungle from end to end, you had thought that perhaps it was an exaggeration. However, seeing it now you can tell that is not the case at all. The unnaturally still waters end directly on the trunks of huge trees, gargantuan by any standard you can imagine. As the Eridan guides the boat directly to them, John uses a push pole to keep your vessel from smashing into the sturdy plants. With a quick bit of rope work, they have secured the boat between two of the trunks.  
  
The raven-haired boy hops over the side and lands in knee-deep water, "Looks like we are on the marsh-side. If we move inland the ground will be a bit drier." He offers you his hand to help you down, and then the same for your matesprit once you had your footing. Eridan is already sloshing around nearby, wading through the water and peering this way and that.  
  
"Eridan!" John hisses. "Quiet!" He holds a finger before his lips. Despite his lack of Alternian vocabulary, his intent is perfectly clear. You all somber up a bit, remembering yet again that you are intruders to this place and likely not welcome in the least. With a dramatic gesture, Eridan holds out an arm for his moirail to lead the way.  
  
John carefully wades forward, his lanky stride somehow moving through the water without making so much as a ripple, let alone a sound. Sure enough, as you all move onward, the waters recede until you are traveling along dark, loamy soil. While not particularly pleased that your skirt is being sullied in such a manner, you resolve not to change clothes until your exploit is over (especially since the likelihood of becoming filthy again is extremely high).  
  
As unbelievable as it seems, the trees grow ever taller and wider as you press forth, becoming thick wooden pillars around you. Vines snake over the ground and trunks, even hanging down from branches. The underbrush seems comprised mostly of thorny bushes and a few brightly-colored and patterned frogs. Your leader suddenly halts, hand half-raised and head cocked as if straining to catch a sound. Something about his posture screams vigilance, yet you sense nothing that could be a danger.  
  
That is, until a large white creature bursts forth from the nearby bushes, brandishing its crab-like appendages and screeching. It pauses as it takes in your motley crew of would-be rescuers, clacking its- her- claws menacingly. Then two more lusii appear on either side of your group, and you realize that your group has been flanked. Clever girl.  
  
"Home sweet home," John mutters under his breath, right before yelling, "up!"  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"They can't climb, so going up is our best bet," you hurriedly explain. Then you remember Alternian is indeed a thing, "Up! Eridan, Kanaya! Up!"  
  
Although Kanaya gives a smart nod and turns towards the nearest tree, Eridan is raising his gun to his shoulders like an idiot. You grab his arm and yank so that he has to pay you heed, and you shake your head. Starting a fight this early in the rescue (this far from the safety of the house) is simply too dangerous. Gunshots draw too much attention from other nearby monsters; there would be no way that you could make it to a secure location before being overwhelmed. You hope that he understands.  
  
He snarls a very Karkat-sounding phrase before wrapping an arm around your waist and lurching towards a nearby tree. With a pop, his rifle disappears and he shoves you up ahead of him as he digs his claws into the wood. Climbing is something you do best, so you scamper up the tree on your fingers and toes, using every cranny in the bark to your advantage. Your arm gives a nasty twinge at one point, but other than that you feel like this is just like old times. Once you deem yourself high enough to not be in immediate danger, you clamber onto a large bough and take a moment to assess your situation.  
  
Kanaya and Rose are in a tree next to yours, both of them looking a bit harried but otherwise fine. Eridan is coming to a stop on the limb below yours, obviously peeved. The lusii, however, are not in pursuit. Their claws are built for crushing prey, not climbing trees, and they quickly lose interest. With a few grumbling roars, they disperse into the bushes once again. You rather hope that is the last time you run into that particular bunch.  
  
You give a sigh of relief and mutter, "Well, that could have gone better." Then you remember your manners, "Eridan okay? Rose? Kanaya?"  
  
"We are unharmed!" Rose assures you. "That was quick thinking, John."  
  
"Sometimes you've got to pick your fights," you shrug. "Especially since there are always more hiding ab-"  
  
A panther scream causes you to stop mid-sentence and start scrambling for a weapon. You hear your moirail yell something, and then suddenly he is on the ground with a huge cat-like beast on top of him. Oh _Hell_ no. With a pop, your hammer's familiar weight returns to your hand. Eridan clouts its nose, but still does not have enough room to draw his ridiculously blue weapon. Hell to the fuck no.  
  
You jump.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"Shit!" you exclaim as the world goes topsy-turvy on you. Then the harsh impact with the ground comes and something large is pressing against your abdomen. Your eyes focus onto the large feline face and you realize that you are about to become a snack for a wild lusus. Not if you had anything to say about it, of course. Rearing back as far as possible while pinned to the ground, you punch it right on the nose. Although there is a satisfying smack, the beast does not back down. Well, shit.  
  
Then you see John's fucking hammer connecting with its skull, quickly followed by John himself. At this the lusus howls and rears back, sending your moirail tumbling to the ground. While it is no longer on top of you, you roll to the side a few times and then pop up onto your feet. You see that it and John are already facing off. His hammer out and swinging in a circle so it rings in the air, he actually _snarls_ at the creature. And in that moment with his tanned face distorted and his strangely-blunt teeth bared like fangs, you realize with a terrible start that he is quite beautiful.  
  
Not the sort of beautiful you associate with trolls who make your bulge throb or even the kind of beauty of noble seadwellers all dressed up for a ball, but the kind of savage beauty of a hurricane or a deadly carnivore taking down its prey- the beauty of a force of nature. His swinging, ringing, hammer comes up and collides with the lusus's jaw with a sickening crunch and you shake yourself. Now is not the time for these strange sentiments that make your bloopusher ache. But it looks like the fighting is already over, as the lusus screeches defiantly one last time before turning tail and fleeing into the brush.  
  
John yells after it, but does not seem inclined to chasing it down. Ending his tirade with a huff, he returns his weapon to his strife deck. Then he notices you, and it is like a switch being turned back off. All at once his features are soft again, full of concern and no trace of the hardness you had seen. The problem is that you _did_ see it, and now even when it is gone you sense that there is something more to your little moirail. Something that is buried so deep within him that it is possibly even hidden to him. All at once, you are afraid.  
  
"Eridan," he grumbles against your chest. "John okay. Stop."  
  
You growl and hug him even tighter for a moment, "Okay, sure." You release him, "Just don't scare me like that again, you idiot. That thing coulda eaten you in half a bite and looked around for seconds."  
  
Rose and Kanaya rejoin you on the ground, the human girl already speaking, "I see now that John was not exaggerating about the dangers of this isle. Perhaps we should make haste to his sister."  
  
"Probably a good idea," you nod. "Lead the wway, John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my fu- um. has it really been that long?? 
> 
> sorry all!! there have been a lot of struggles on this side of the screen. since i dont wanna go in detail bout it.... lets just suffice to say that i will try to be more diligent on updates but i still have a lot on my plate at the moment. im trying. i know that doesnt mean much to anyone these days but i am.
> 
> EDIT:: so uh. my rail decided to cheer me up with some fanart. goddamn i love her. lookit!! [Shipwwrecked John](http://adriyel-chan.deviantart.com/art/Shipwwrecked-John-483907893)


	9. On the Island

Following the human boy more carefully this time, you strain your ears and eyes to sense anything about your surroundings. It all still seems so calm, as if those lusii had not just attacked your group. You wonder why they had attacked. Normally wild lusii would avoid any trolls in their area, not seek to defend their territory from them. In fact, in most the drive to guard was not triggered until they had adopted a wriggler to care for. The whole ordeal has put you on edge, and you wonder if the others can sense your growing unease. When your guide suddenly halts, you start peering about the nearby foliage almost anxiously.  
  
Rose translates a whispered conversation between the two of them, "John says that we are going to cut through the middle of the isle, as the coast-lands are far more dangerous. He does want me to caution you both, and especially you Eridan, that any loud noises tend to attract more lusii, so it is best if we avoid any fighting if possible. No firing any shots from your 'ridiculously blue, long-barreled cannon.' We should be able to reach his old hive in just over an hour."  
  
"It's called Ahab's Crosshairs and it's hardly any louder than any other rifle," pouts the seadweller.   
  
"John, your shirt is in tatters," you tut and eject a new tunic for him. Then you notice the other two staring at you. "What? If I cannot get you to ditch the cape, I can at least make sure your moirail is dressed appropriately enough that he will not get hypothermia. Or did you forget that a tropical storm is eminent?"   
  
"You have a really nag-heavvy personality, Kan," frowns Eridan, but John is already changing his clothing so you count this as a victory. "Let's get on wwith it. I cannot wwait to put my rudder to this place."   
  
Somehow John is able to get enough of a cue from this to snort and continue leading the way. The ground is only covered by a thin layer of damp leaves, deadening your footsteps as you proceed. Unfortunately, it also did the same for any beasts that were hunting you. Such as the large cat-like lusus that obviously is still holding a grudge against John running it off. Except this time, it appears to have brought a friend with it. The two hiss and splutter as they warily circle your band. Seeing no alternative, you grimly equip your weapon.   
  
A sudden crack of gunfire is heard, echoing slightly off of some far-off structure.   
  
John's head snaps towards the direction of the sound, "Jade?" Then he is off like a bullet, crashing through underbrush in a helter-skelter fashion.   
  
"John!" Eridan shouts after him, but his charge is blocked by the large panther. "Shit! John!"   
  
"I think we should deal with this problem first, Ampora," you chide. Then the new cat lunges at you and the battle begins.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
At first it appeared that your group had driven off the lusii that would challenge you, but the second ambush had been just as startling as the first. You suddenly find yourself in the midst of a fight you had been entirely unprepared for and John has run off to (hopefully) aid his sister in whatever trials she is facing. Perhaps that was the real danger of his island- the constant paranoia of the unknown.   
  
Kanaya's rather unique weapon slices open a leg of the creature that had attacked her, and it yowls like any other barn cat that has had its tail stepped upon. The other troll appears to be trying to put some distance between him and his foe, likely due to needing a moment for his rifle to charge. You opt to aid him in this endeavor by pulling out your needles and rushing at the unprotected flank of the beast. Instead, a crack of a rifle causes you to skid to a halt and search for the source.   
  
A figure with wild hair swings down on a vine, slamming into the side of the panther lusus. It screeches and skitters to the side, already baring its fangs at the new threat. Said threat appears to be a teenage girl, clothes in tatters and bright green eyes glinting behind her oval glasses. She hoots and hollers as she brandishes her sturdy rifle, eventually grabbing it by the barrel and thwacking the face of the panther with the stock. As it retreats, she shouts at it in some sort of islander language you cannot understand. Eridan has his own rifle out now, and is uneasily glancing from her to the retreating wild lusii. You realize his unease when she suddenly points her weapon at him.  
  
"Wwhoa there! Easy. You're Jade, right?" he lifts his hands up and points his weapon deliberately away from her.   
  
Bright green eyes glance from you to him, and she says something. Getting no response, she tries again, "You alright?"   
  
"Yes, I am perfectly fine," you respond. Then you blink. Wait. That had been Alternian.   
  
"Troll safe?" she gestures to Eridan and your matesprit.  
  
"Yes, they are quite safe," you are quick to assure her. "Perhaps though we can speak in a language you are more at ease with. Your brother seemed more comfortable with English."  
  
"You know John?" she perks up, finally putting her weapon away. The two trolls look extremely relieved.   
  
"Indeed," you nod. "We followed his lead here to find you."  
  
"Then where is he?" frowns the girl.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You stumble through the underbrush at a pace you have not attempted in years, terrified that something has happened to your sister. As you run, you hear a gunshot behind you and curse Eridan for being unable to keep his clammy fingers off of the trigger. However, chiding your moirail would have to wait; you have a sibling in distress to rescue. You skid to a halt at the edge of the beach, sensing the presence of more of those white beasts about. Lusii. Whatever. Panting, you creep forward cautiously to see what is going on.   
  
There is a large lusus in the sands, a lithe thing with a long body and short legs that is snarling and swiping claws at a couple trolls. They appear to be jeering at it, using long spears to keep it at bay while another group tosses ropes and nets around it. You are taken aback. If these are trolls sent to collect lusii to go take care of baby trolls (you think they are called wrigglers?), this seems like a horrible method to go about it. After all, the animal looks very angry and upset and likely not at all willing to be a parental-figure. On one hand, you have never liked a bully. On the other, you probably should not interfere with the business of other cultures.  
  
"Found -- -- --!" someone behind you exclaims. You jump up and twirl around, only to see the barrel of a rifle pointed right at you. Yikes. You put your hands up slowly, hoping that the strange troll with curlycue horns does not have a twitchy trigger finger like your moirail.   
  
"---- get rope!" she calls. Well that did not sound good for you. Another troll comes up with some rope, and it quickly becomes apparent that they want to tie you up. Perhaps you could convince them otherwise.  
  
"Nice person?" you tentatively offer.   
  
Although the one with the rope appears taken aback, the first one gives a harsh bark of laughter, "-- -- talks Alternian! -- -- fun. Bring -- --. Tie up." The green-eyed troll grimaces and binds your wrists together anyway. You know better than to resist. The others on the beach have already wandered up behind you, and you are horribly outnumbered. Besides, you are not sure right now if you even want to be fighting these trolls. This could all be a huge misunderstanding. Perhaps they did not know that your family had always lived on this island of lusii and thought you were some sort of trespasser. Maybe it was some sort of offense to religion or culture to be on the island without permission. They might think that you were a shipwrecked survivor, stranded on the island. Or they could just be taking you as prisoner.   
  
The curlycue female leads you with pokes and prods to the beach, while the others peer at you with varying degrees of frank curiosity to downright leering. They appear to be dragging away the otter-like lusus, and you follow their path and see a boat. Suddenly, you do not want to go any further. You dig in your heels, protesting the best you can in Alternian, but one of the bigger trolls simply clouts your head and picks you up. Even dazed, you still kick and yell (and possibly bite him once or twice). All to no avail. You are tossed on board with all the care one would show a sack of potatoes. Already the trolls are preparing the sails and hoisting the anchor, and you scramble to get your feet under you in time to perhaps make a dash for the water. The woman with the curly horns must have predicted this, as her rifle is immediately trained on you.   
  
Well. Shit.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"Wwhat do you mean, poachers?" you frown.  
  
The blonde human shrugs, "I mean that there are trolls on the island who have been forcibly removing lusii at a steady rate over the past sweep or so. According to Jade, at least. She has been picking up bits and pieces of Alternian from observing them, but they have not taken kindly to her presence. They have attempted to capture or harm her on several different occasions."  
  
"Yeah, but wwhat does this havve to do wwith... Wwait," you suddenly freeze. "Iffen that gunshot wwasn't her, then it wwas... oh no. Oh _fuckin Hell_ no!" You start to stride through the underbrush in the direction you had last seen your moirail heading. Of course. Of course he would run straight for the nearest group of unfriendly peoples. All of whom just so happened to be poachers taking lusii for unknown purposes. Just your fucking luck.  
  
"Eridan, wait!" calls Kanaya. "I believe we can come up with a better plan than a foolhardy rush into danger. Rose is still explaining to Jade where her brother went."  
  
"Bec!" exclaims the strange girl, who looks like your moirail but taller and with bright green eyes. "BEC!" You wonder what she is shouting about until a flash of bright green light reveals a large white barkbeast lusus. Wait, not a lusus. Humans did not have those. She speaks excitedly to the dog, and you hear her mention John's name. With a yip, there is another blinding flash of green light, and then you are suddenly standing on a beach. Blinking, you glance about quickly, but no one seems to be around. Not anymore at least. You will worry about the whole scene-changing power of the dog later. Right now, you had work to do.   
  
"These tracks, they look like a scuffle went on around here," notes Kanaya as the white beast bounds this way and that with his nose to the ground. You critically evaluate the prints. There had been a lusus here, a large canine-like one of some kind. The huge furrow in the sand suggests that it, or its carcass (although there is not enough blood for that), was dragged off. After a moment, you can pick up the little bare footprints of your moirail, squashed over by heavy boots until they disappear completely. So he had been on the beach with the poachers, or just before them.   
  
With a sinking feeling in your stomach, you pull Ahab's Crosshair to your eye and look through the scope. Far off in the distance, you can see the small white patches of sails. Your own vessel is on the opposite end of the island, and you doubt that you could catch up to them. You are going to attempt it anyway.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"Eridan, I do hope you to realize that although we all agree that rescuing John is of the utmost importance, there is in fact a rather large tropical storm closing in on us," you point out. "We should find somewhere to take shelter before we are victims of a shipwreck ourselves."   
  
He snarls, completely unreasonable, "No! If wwe lose sight of the sails, then it wwill be all ovver. Wwe havve no idea wwhere they drop anchor, Kan. No idea wwhere they operate. Wwe'vve gotta keep goin as long as they are-"  
  
"Their vessel is much larger and better equipped," Rose backs you up. "There is no way we can hope to outlast them nor catch up. Our best course of action is to turn to our sources and find out what exactly these trolls might be doing with poached lusii and where they are likely heading. We are not saying that we want to give up, Eridan. We are simply saying that to win we need to fight smarter, not harder. None of us will be any good to John if the boat is in splinters."   
  
The violetblood takes a deep breath, "Fuck. Okay. Wwe can cut hard to the east an shelter at one a the little chain islands nearby. Mark their last knowwn coordinates. Wwe'll glubbing get in touch wwith your sources. Although I havve a fairly good idea wwho one a them might be and I think you're crazy if you think she'll help wwith anythin invvolvving me."  
  
You attempt to console him, "They will not get far in this weather. Perhaps we will be able to apprehend them without having to rely on our... friends for information. For now, this is what we must do." If the look on his face could be described in a few words, you would pick... agony, rage, and distraught acceptance. For the good of the group he was having to make the choice to not rush to his moirail's rescue. You cannot even imagine how difficult a decision this is for him- nor how destructive his wrath will be should something happen to John.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You have been sitting at the front of the stands nearest to the pit below, not because the seats here are particularly good but because you are anxiously awaiting the arrival of your lusus onto the scene. Provided he is here, of course. The old goat was- is- rather good at disappearing. And none of the trolls from the poaching crews (that you only roughed up a little) could tell you with any certainty whether a Capricorn was captured or not. You wish you had some pie with you. But no, you had promised Karkat that you would lay off them a bit. To take it easy. It is good to take things easy.   
  
Easy...  
               as...  
                            pie...  
  
You finish spacing out when a nearby greenblood accidentally elbows you. In a capricious fit of entirely justified anger, you simply grab the offending limb and flip him up and over the wall into the pit below. The large lizard-like lusus quickly hisses and snaps him up like a delicious treat. The crowd screams on, cheering obliviously. At least now you had a bit more open space around you. You go back to imagining how nice it would be to have one of your lime-green concoctions. That is, until you notice something odd inside the ring.  
  
There is a pupa down there. No, maybe that was not quite right. Although he is definitely small enough to be a pupa, his skin is not gray. There are no horns on his head. He'd be a human. A young one at that. He looks lost and confused as he picks himself back up from the dusty ground, eventually retrieving a pair of glasses. Huh. Now what would they be planning for a wee little morsel like that? He surely would not put up enough of a fight to be entertaining for the rowdy crowd.   
  
"-trespassin on an island of wild lusii. So we thought we'd have a bit a fun, and see first-hand how he managed to survive there so long," the announcer is saying. "What do you think, boys?" The crowd screams and she grins, "Righto! Then let's get the first lusus out here. It's an otter-type, and it should be quite hungry enough for a light snack about now."  
  
Sure enough, here comes the long body of a large otter lusus. It hisses and spits as it enters the fighting arena from one of the holding areas below the stands. The kid is slowly backing up. It does not even look like he has any sort of weapon to defend himself, the poor bastard. Something tickles at the back of your mind, though. You feel like you really should be paying more attention; maybe you have forgotten something important.   
  
The otter has spotted the kid and approaches him warily, stalking him like prey. In response, the kid holds out his hands and... talks to the lusus.   
  
"Good boy," he says, softly and firmly. "Good boy. Nice boy. No fight."   
  
You blink. Well, that is interesting. The lusus appears intrigued by this offer of something other than a sharpened stick or taunting obscenities. It stretches its neck forward and snuffles one of the little brownish hands. Then it allows the boy to pat its nose, as if accepting some sort of contract. The trolls around you are booing, but all you can think is how strange it must be for a lusus to find more comfort in a completely new species than any of the surrounding trolls. What a macabre theme in this ring of dried blood and hot sand.   
  
"Well, a dud is a dud, boys," the announcer tuts sadly. "We will just have to send some gladiators in there to get the job done right. Maybe the sad fuck will surprise us and put up a fight before we cull him."   
  
There they are- a motley band of mostly midbloods in varying degrees of armor. Seeing their approach, the kid has the gall to stand in front of the lusus as if guarding him, one arm held out as if the tiny twig could stop the otter. The gladiators laugh and jeer, readying their assortment of weapons. Then suddenly the lusus is moving forward, standing over the small figure and growling lowly. Everyone pauses, hesitating in uncertainty. After all, never has a lusus adopted a _human_ before.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You are- to put it lightly- utterly fucked. Besides the fact that Eridan's small vessel was damaged in the storm, your group has completely lost the trail of the pirate vessel. A messenger bird was sent to Karkat, and another to one of Kanaya's old acquaintances and the former kismesis of Eridan- Vriska Serket. However, neither of them have replied yet (probably due to the fact the birds were sent out _yesterday_ ), and spending time on the mainland dock with a severely pissed-off violetblood is extremely detrimental to the health of everyone around. Sadly, said violetblood was not inclined to leave the shore until he had some sort of lead on his moirail's kidnappers.   
  
"This is just like when John left," Jade frowns. "Bec is great with commands- he really is!- but he just can't seem to track anyone when they go over long distances. The water must put him off the trail or something."   
  
"Does this happen often then?" you raise a quizzical eyebrow.   
  
"John getting taken by poachers? No, can't say it does," she retorts. "However, he _does_ have an annoying habit of getting himself into trouble. Or disappearing suddenly. Or both those things at once. Usually both, actually. I just wish that it could always be like when we were little. A snap of my fingers and Bec would have found him again, and we would all be back home."  
  
You try not to think too hard about the physics-breaking dog, "I imagine that you find this quite inconvenient then."   
  
"The most inconvenient!" agrees the girl. "Buuuut, it _is_ nice to have someone to talk to for a change. Not that Bec isn't a good listener, but, you know, you can actually talk back. In something besides barks."  
  
You eye her from the side, "I was under the impression that your grandfather was still on the island, but you have given no indication that this is still correct."  
  
"Grandpa Harley?" her green eyes go wide. "Oh. I suppose that means John must have gotten my letter after all. It was so long ago that I had almost forgotten. Grandpa Harley passed away last season. It's just been me and Bec on the island for quite a while now. Well, us and those troll hunters."  
  
"I see," is what you say, but your mind is spinning. If John had only recently obtained the letter, either he had been much harder to find than the sailors had expected or someone had purposefully delayed the mail from reaching its destination. Yet, you cannot see a single reason why someone would do such a thing. After all, these are simply two islander children who lived on a remote location. They had no political ties nor treasure. In fact, besides a rather curious dog, they did not seem to even have enough to provide themselves with simple necessities such as glasses for John. (Then again, there had been the fact that the isle had not existed on any map...) There just has to be something else going on here, and you are not going to be satisfied until you figure it out.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
People often underestimate you. It has been an ongoing problem for years- from even before you left the island. They take one look at your slender frame and small stature and scoff. Sure, you had yet to hit another growth spurt and your frame was more wires than the bulky muscles you hope to someday claim, but they forget one very important fact. You are a survivor and one Hell of a scrapper.   
  
Your preferred strife specibus is a heavy, close-range weapon. You had lived your entire childhood with giant monsters trying to kill you. Once you left the island, you had earned coins by hustling fighting rings. Admittedly there had been that brief period working at the bakery, but even that had been filled with hard physical labor. So your thin frame may not look particularly sturdy, but what is there is composed of almost pure muscle. From time to time, you enjoy reminding people not to take you lightly. Especially when those people are killing lusii for sport (and attempting to do the same to you).   
  
When the gangly guy with the clown face hops down into the arena, you are more than ready to give him a piece of your mind as well. But he just gives a lazy smile and a 'come-hither' gesture with his hand, turning towards the wall of the arena. The lattice gate in that direction is slowly opening for the swarming mass of armored trolls. As they pour out, he calmly strides right through them, ignoring all those except the ones who try to attack him. Those poor souls are introduced to what appears to be a heavy wooden club with iron straps.   
  
As much as he puts you on edge, anywhere is better than here. You look up to the otter-like lusus questioningly, "What do you say, Otto? Should we follow him?" With a twitch of his nose and a huff, the giant head dips down. He picks you up by the scruff of your new tunic (That is now also ruined. Oops. Hopefully Kanaya won't be too mad.) and leaps over some of the trolls to reach the gate. It surprises you how quickly he can move, but he has no problems charging down the narrow hallways and back towards the holding area for lusii. By the time you two get there, the harlequin is already opening the doors to the various pens and cages. Oh. So that was his plan.  
  
You are more than happy to help; after all, these poor things deserved much better than getting slaughtered for entertainment. The freed creatures mill about for a moment before realizing the tunnel is relatively clear. Then they all start surging forward, a stampede of a motley assortment of animals that crush or fling anything in their path. When you are knocked off your feet by some sort of sheep-like lusus hopping on two legs, Otto once again simply picks you up like a cat would a kitten. You are so used to being toted around by a burly moirail that you are not even all that annoyed. With a sense of vertigo, you are rushed through the tunnels once again and jostled this way and that as the giant otter takes sharp turns.  
  
Then, all at once, you are outside again. The stars shine brightly above as you are carefully set back down on your feet. No longer surrounded by the stadium stands, you can see that you are at the edge of a mountain range of some sort. You can also see that you and your face-painted ally are not alone.   
  
Those trolls certainly look angry.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
If there is one thing you have learned, it is that you are never, _ever_ trusting John anywhere out of your sight. Thus far, no one has gotten back to your group on any leads on his location. Nor have you had any luck with your own attempts to hunt down local gangs or nefarious ne'er-do-wells who might know something about lusus poaching. However, they _have_ done a rather good job of allowing you to vent your considerable rage.   
  
"Was that entirely necessary?" a rather prim voice snarks behind you.  
  
"It wwas if you wwant me to _not_ go on a mass-cullin spree," you turn around to eye the human girl balefully. Sometimes you feel like there are just some things that blonde does not understand, no matter how much she spews large words and supposedly deep and meaningful insights to the inner mind of everyone around her. This is one of those things.  
  
"Is it because you're a highblood?" she asks. "I've heard of bloodrages, but I assumed that they were relatively rare and unpredictable in those _without_ moirails."   
  
"They're more common the higher up the hemocaste you are," you retort. "I'm a _vviolet_ , for fuck's sake. One wwhose moirail has been abducted by Gogdamn poachers. I'm surprised I _havven't_ gone into a full-blowwn bloodrage."  
  
Her expression softens, "We'll find him, Eridan. And he will be perfectly hale and whole when we do. John's neither unintelligent nor impotent. He can take care of himself."  
  
"He'd _better_ be, or I wwill fuckin destroy evverything," you snarl, and you mean it completely. You had not gone so long without any of your quadrants filled to have this miracle literally dropped into your lap and then ripped away just as easily. This time you were going to fight tooth and nail until you got him back, and then the universe was going to have to work ten times as hard to take him away from you again. You miss his stupid buckteeth and unruly hair and horrifyingly-adorable clumsiness and soothing cuddles and- whoa, better reign it in before you have to find some other troll to beat into a pulp. Still. If anything were to happen to him, you would take it as a personal insult from the entire world at large.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You wander through the stadium, aimlessly looking about to see if there is anyone left to swindle. As tough of a crowd this sort of event drew in, you always were able to find at least a few stupid enough to hustle. Then again, the main attraction of this sort of place is the corpses of troll and lusii alike. After all, it is much more palatable for you to simply scoop up the results of these gladiatorial fighting rings than having to go dupe larping pupas. Spidermom's stomach had to be filled either way. This way just... involved fewer scars in the end.   
  
There appeared to have been some sort of accident earlier, as there are a lot more corpses strewn among the seats than usual. The few trolls you see milling about don't look any more ready to answer questions than the two you had already interrogated, so you leave them be as you pop another couple bodies into your sylladex. Sick of the stench of clotting blood and death, you make your way back outside to the somewhat clearer air. The things you do for your lusus.   
  
What you see there gives you pause.   
  
Is that a... human? Not even a full grown one, from the looks of it. He is leaning heavily on what looks to be a ridiculously large mallet of some kind, resting as the remaining trolls pace warily just out of range. Next to him is that sopor-slurping clown, of all people, complete with his stupid juggling clubs. There is also an otter-lusus hanging back, one leg tucked up under its chest as if it were wounded. Deciding on a whim to intervene, you saunter up with your Fluorite Octet in hand. It gives you endless satisfaction to see the others take a few steps back as you approach.   
  
"Is there a problem here, boys?" you smirk.   
  
"Nothing to concern yourself with, Marquise," snarls their ringleader, a woman with curly horns and a shoddy-looking rifle. Your ex-kimesis at least had the good taste to use powerful and ancient weapons instead of piecemealing bits together like her.   
  
"Really?" you feign surprise before turning to the clown. "Gamzee, is this lot giving you trouble?" You can see the others shifting uneasily at the familiar way you addressed him.   
  
"Trouble is as trouble does," he answers with complete gibberish, of course. "Naw, I all up and thought I'd just give this teeny motherfucker a hand. Ain't no fair for them to gang up on the lil bro the way they does, but he's givin them a run for their money just the same. Pretty funny, right sister?"  
  
"Did he now?" you glance over the kid and find him watching the exchange carefully, weapon still gripped tightly. "Ha! He's still just a pupa. A sprightly pupa, maybe, but a pupa all the same. I like that!" Then you let the grin you had plastered on your face start to fall, "Looks like you all worked him over, though. Tch! Some big bad trolls you are, proving your worth like this. Isn't the point of the gladiator arena to take on _challenging_ opponents?"  
  
"Fuck off, Marquise!" the woman screeches. "If you think he's so weak, why don't _you_ take him on?"  
  
"Wouldn't be any fun now that he's half-beat, Demrah," you place a hand on your hips. "Why don't you all take off before I decide that _you_ look like a nice challenge. It's been awhile since I've participated in a good grief."   
  
Although they sputter with rage, they retreat all the same. Funny. You don't think you have ever seen Gamzee fight, but his clubs are definitely splattered with some blood. The way he gazes languidly out into space, though, is the same as always. You wonder what the rage-prone Karkat sees in the buffoon. Giving him up as a lost cause, you turn to the human. His stance has eased a bit since the others left, but he still looks a bit anxious.   
  
"Hey there, pupa!" you grin. "You did a good job, but you looked pretty fucked-up. You have somewhere nearby you can hang out until you're healed up?"   
  
"No fight?" he questions disjointedly.   
  
"No, I don't kill pupas for fun."  
  
"I don't think he all up and gots the talk on like you and me," Gamzee decides to wander over.   
  
"Great," you rub your forehead. "So what were you planning now? Were you just going to leave him here next to the coliseum?"  
  
"Nah, I wouldn't do that to the cute lil guy," he waves a hand aimlessly. "He ain't from around here, so he'd probably get shanked by night three. I thought I'd all up and motherfucking bring him back to the hive. He could kick it there for a while."  
  
"Ha! _You_ were going to take care of him? He'd be better off in a ditch somewhere. You know what, fine. I'll take him back to my place and see if Equius can't help me patch him up. Hey, little guy. You and me, yeah? We can kick all the a- erm- behind from here to the hive. Come on."  
  
"Don't forget the lusus."  
  
"... ** _what_**?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no, im not dead. just. havin a rough time. sorry for the long wait yet again. orz   
> one of these days i will get my life together and actually stick to a regular schedule. one of these days....


	10. Time Apart

You huff, bored now that the initial excitement of being off the island has worn away to leave nothing but awkwardness and painful longing for old times. Bec has curled around your bare feet, overprotective in a new environment. Well, he is always a bit overprotective. Just now he growled at people whose names you knew instead of strangers or giant white monsters. Like this very moment, where he grumbled at the approach of the light-haired girl. You quiet him with a glance, and he settles down for now.   
  
"Worried?" Rose asks as she perches on the railing a few feet away.   
  
"Not at the moment," you reply. When she does that thing with her eyebrows, you continue, "John has a bad habit of disappearing and proving impossible to track. After the first ten times, you learn to just wait until he comes back on his own. Although, I suppose the fact that someone actually took him away this time is concerning. I'm sure he will find a way to return regardless."  
  
Her lavender eyes study you for a moment, "You know, your brother also displayed symptoms of what I would almost call apathy. Not caring."  
  
"It's not that we do not care," you defend yourself. "He's my _saudara_ , my brother, and we have a... a... _persaudaraan_... a bond? It is not easily explained. We care about many things, but in our world there is a line you learn. On one side are things you can affect. On the other are things you cannot control. No matter how hard you want the line to move, it does not. My brother falls on the side with things I cannot command."  
  
"The two of you are very close, yes?"  
  
You misunderstand her, "I hope so, but I think he is far away."  
  
"Ah- I meant emotionally," she explains. "You seem very in-tune with each other: more alike than different."  
  
"We have been together most of our lives. From when he was born only hours after me, until he left to find work with the _orang luar_ \- ah, the, um, not us. People like you."  
  
"Twins?" blinks Rose, not at all offended by the vague hand gesture you just made in her general direction. "It must have been nice to have a sibling always with you. Well, I suppose you are right not to worry about things you cannot control, but many of us cannot help such things."  
  
"John is not helpless," you smirk just a little as you eye the gray waves in the distance. "If he were, Grandpa would never have allowed him to leave the island in the first place. He knows how to fight, and even better he knows when to run. Wherever he is, he will survive. Always, he will survive and come back."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You study Jade's face as she stares out over the open waters. Part of you is relieved that she seems to be taking the situation so well, but... the rest of you is highly concerned. Pondering what kind of life these two could have had, you wonder what tests they had to endure to prove themselves in such a volatile world. Their island had been full of dangerous lusii; their only human contact was apparently the occasional vessel full of coarse, superstitious sailors. There was an increasingly high likelihood that their aloof demeanor was due to a series of traumatic events that caused them to remove themselves emotionally from reality.   
  
With a shake, you return to present matters. First and foremost, you needed to convince a certain seadweller to move your group to a more secure location. Roughing it out on the dockside inns is difficult enough without people as noteworthy as a violetbood prince and a jadeblood. Of course the last pickpocket had been summarily torn to shreds by the pissed-off highblood, but you would prefer to draw less attention to your group, not more. As you muse, your matesprit floats over in that effortlessly graceful way of hers.   
  
"Are the two of you joining us for breakfast or are you going to stare off into the ocean all evening?"  
  
"We shall be there momentarily," you promise. "I will be bringing up moving somewhere less... conspicuous. If Ampora continues to rip apart every lowlife we come across, the docks will be out of workers soon."   
  
Her lips quirk upwards, "I am certain we can convince our flippered friend to move to a local more fitting for someone of his prestige. Do remember not to push the issue, though. His state is becoming more unstable as time goes on."   
  
You nod absentmindedly. It was not only the violetblood whose concern is growing; you know that the more time that passes, the more difficult the trail will be to follow. Ampora's energetic moirail is in the hands of lusus poachers. While you cannot divine what they want with a young human, you cannot imagine that it is anything good. As you follow Kanaya to the inn, you hope that wherever John is, he is also getting a warm meal.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You stare up at the new troll. And you do mean _up_. The mammoth guy is built like a castle wall: tall, wide, and imposing. He glances you over before turning his attention back to the woman who had intervened at the gladiator arena. They exchange a few words, talking in dialects that are not quite clear to you yet. Then the big guy's hand (the palm being the size of your head) is descending and he scruffs you by your shirt collar. When you let out an annoyed 'Hey!', Otto suddenly growls.   
  
The two trolls freeze.   
  
Realizing that things could go bad, you quickly attempt to calm the lusus, "No, Otto. Bad. Otto, sit." Although less than pleased about this, he does as you ask. The tension leaves the air and you almost sigh in relief. You were quite finished with people starting fights, especially with the poor otter lusus.   
  
"- - good kid," grins the woman. "See? -- --!"   
  
The giant grunts and simply totes you inside the literal castle. Even from this awkward position, you attempt to glance around and take in your surroundings as he retreats through the large hall. It is surprisingly bare inside, with none of the extravagant trappings you were expecting. The woman swaggers inside after you two, looking supremely bored. Your attention is reclaimed by the huge troll when he suddenly plops you down on what looks to be a workbench.   
  
"Sit," he grits out. "Stay." Then he is turning away. You make a face at his back. There is absolutely no reason for him to treat you like a small child. Or worse, a pet. It is not until you hear an amused snort that you remember the other troll is still in the room. Whoops.   
  
When the big guy returns, he sets a box of assorted objects down with a severe look. Refusing to be cowed, you remain unabashed as he pulls out a dark bottle and a clean rag. After roughly scrubbing away at your various scrapes and scratches, he eventually catches your injured arm (that you totally were _not_ trying to hit him with) and gently twists it this way and that. Frowning, he mutters to himself and stomps off again.   
  
When he returns with what looks to be a small machete, your anxiety starts to spike. You do have a sense of self-preservation, no matter what Eridan says. However, a very carefully placed swipe and the splint is falling away. You are forced to sit still and wait as he painstakingly places cotton wraps and then plaster over your arm. By the time he is finished, you are both highly annoyed at each other. When he grits out for you to 'stay' again like you are a dog, you kick his shin.   
  
At this point the female troll is in gales of laughter. She bids the hulking troll farewell and grabs you by the (uninjured) hand to pull you out the door. Otto, noticeably relieved, circles around the two of you once before deciding that you can indeed walk all on your own. At this point you are so irritable and tired that you do not even care where this stranger is leading you, as long as you get to sleep once you get there. For at least three days now your life has been a total disaster, and you could really use a break.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You take a deep breath. And then another. You count to twenty twice and a third time just for luck. Then you open your mouth, "Fuck you."  
  
Whelp. No one could say you were not at least trying.  
  
"Eridan, do be reasonable," huffs fussyfangs (and now you finally get the nickname). "We cannot continue to remain plaintively waiting by the waves- especially with your penchant for working over all the sailors. If we are to have any chance at finding John, we first have to survive the two of you being apart."  
  
"You're leavving," you snarl. "You're ditchin me wwhen I actually need you. For once in my life, I'm actually serious about askin you for help and you're wwalkin awway. Explain to me howw I'm supposed to react, Kan."  
  
"We asked you to come with us and you refused," points out Rose oh so helpfully.   
  
"The lowwlifes gather here, so here is wwhere wwe need to be," you say with finality.   
  
"Be that as it may, we are no closer to finding your moirail now than we were when we arrived," she continues. "This location is no longer useful to us. If they have not made port here yet, then they are not going to. We need to regroup and consider our options."  
  
"It's not a regroup if John's not there."  
  
"You are acting like a pupa," tuts Kanaya. "I suggest we head towards Karkat. Since he has not answered the pigeon, he'll be at Makara's hive, attempting to get that loathsome clown to behave like a proper troll. He is the closest friendly presence available, and will most likely be highly amenable to aiding our search for your moirail."   
  
You consider this. Karkat _is_ one of your favorite people (your moirail notwithstanding, of course). And he was pretty darn protective of John himself, for all that the two liked to irk each other like pupas playing blackrom. At the very least, his amusing screaming fits might make you less likely to snap someone in half.   
  
"Just to Gam's place then," you acquiesce, "but if Kar ain't there wwe are turnin right round and comin back."  
  
The look on her face just screams smug satisfaction, "Of course."   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
The little human pupa trails after you with no complaints as you lead him to your own castle. Although you likely would not have understood his complaints in the first place. What Alternian he did know appeared to be disgustingly dialect heavy- even worse: the seatroll kind. A part of you supposes this makes sense since his lusus is an otter-type, but his eyes were blue. Sure, they weren't exactly your Cerulean or your sweaty neighbor's Indigo (actually they looked somewhere in between), but they were still blue. Even if his blood was bright wound red.   
  
A yawn recaptures your attention. Right. The little guy probably has not slept lately. What with being forced into a lusus fighting ring and then Gamzee practically forcing you to drag him all over the place so he wouldn't die from overdosing on sopor pies or something. (Stupid fucking clown.) However, now that you are actually home you realize that you have no place for him to sleep. There are doomsday devices literally all over the place. And broken crystal balls to step on with those bare feet. Also piles of weaponry amongst all the treasure. Not to mention your deadly lusus who you have yet to feed lurking nearby. Holy shit your hive is a death trap.   
  
"Uh, look, I'm not exactly sure what to do with you and your lusus, so for now you're going into one of the cells. I mean, it's probably the safest place for you two in the entire hi- you have no idea what I'm saying, do you?"   
  
He cocks his head just slightly to the side, "Wwho safe?"  
  
"Riiiiiiiight," you drawl out the word. "Just. Follow me. Come. This way." As you travel through the hive, you captchalog things here and there that either might entertain a pupa, or are simply too dangerous to have out in the open with him around. Gosh this was going to be such a pain in the ass. How did you life come to pupa-proofing your hive?   
  
He outright balks when he sees where you have in mind to stash him. You frown and look over the bare cell, "Okay, yeah it kinda sucks, but hear me out: it's safe. This is the most safe you could possibly be. And it's not all that bad! You have your own bathroom and I'm gonna deck out this place right now as in this instant.   
  
"We'll make you a nice comfy pile here in this corner for you and your lusus," you start decaptchuloging things left and right. "Over here we will make you a pile of books and little grub thing I had no idea were still lying around like this toy boat and this chess set and thi- nope. Not that. That was definitely a bomb of some kind. Uh. You saw nothing, otter-dad. Right. Um, what else do you need?"  
  
The boy squints at you as if trying to understand what you are trying to accomplish. Then he very questioningly asks, "Wwho food? Wwho wwater?" He even makes little motions with the words, just in case you do not understand. Which considering that atrocious accent is entirely possible. Where did this kid even start learning Alternian? None of the poacher punks were _this_ incomprehensible.   
  
"Right, I can do that, but first you two need to go in the cell. Er, block. Respiteblock? Yeah, we'll call it that for now." You wait for him to move, and when he stands there you try again, "You. This is your room. Got it? Go to your room."  
  
He makes a really unattractive face, but enters the cell and motions for his lusus to follow. There is not a lot of room in the cell with both of them in there (it wasn't exactly made to hold lusii, for crying out loud). You will have to figure out something else later; for now, you intend to feed these two, then your own lusus, and then get some sleep. It has been a really long night.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"Just a bit farther," you assure the others as you look them over once again for signs of fatigue.  
  
Rose is a bit more pinkish than she usually is, but she would be loath for you to mention it. Jade is chipper as always, bright green eyes flashing as she lopes along with ease, that infernal barkbeast right beside her. Then there is Ampora. The seadweller is trudging along with a severe expression, every now and then actually gritting his fangs. Considering his longer strides, he is probably upset that your group cannot travel at a faster pace. One can only hope that he will keep his ire to himself.  
  
Of course as soon as you think that, he opens his mouth, "Can't wwe go any faster?"  
  
Inwardly you sigh as you explain (yet again), "It is not a race, Ampora. You may be at home here on the beaches, but this is not the easiest place for the rest of us to traverse, nor the safest."  
  
"Anyone wwho so much as looks this wway wwill get shot fulla holes," he growls. "I'm in no mood to play games wwith wwhatevver snotnosed grub calls this stretch his territory."  
  
"Aw, and here I all up and was hopin that we could play some games," a husky voice croons from nearby.  
  
You all jump when you realize the despicable clown is literally lounging just a few feet from your party. Glancing at Rose, you can tell that she was also taken by surprise, which is a feat in itself. Bec the dog is growling lowly, but Jade is already attempting to placate him.   
  
"Gam! You're gonna givve someone a bloodpusher attack!" snarls the violetblood. "Wwater you doin out here?"  
  
Purple eyes slit, "I was sittin by the window and saw the little tiny motherfucking dots in the distance. At first I thought my ocular globes were playing nasty tricks on me. But wouldn't you know, as I sat they got a teeny bit bigger, and bigger. So I thought I'd come see what little insects decided to come get their visit on with this clown motherfucker. Guess those small bugs turned out to be you all."  
  
"As much as I would like to point out that we are in fact not arthropods of any kind, I think it is best if we simply asked now if Karkat is perchance visiting at this time?" you interrupt before anyone can say anything that sets the fool off on another meaningless metaphorical rant.  
  
"Ah," he smiles as if suddenly everything makes sense. "Course you are all wantin to get your visit on with my best bro. _Everyone_ likes to be all up and around him. Wouldn't it just be motherfucking bitchtits to have a party while he were here? Slam poetry and snacks and games and maybe cake. I'd even bake some pies, 'cept the lil' dude forbade me from making anymore at present. Found my stash behind the loadgaper."  
  
You do not even want to know the specifics of that last comment. "Right. Well, could we perchance impose upon you for a short while so we may speak with him?"  
  
"Sure," he shrugs, finally rising to his over-sized feet. "Just mind your weapons. Crabdad ain't too thrilled with visitors. Even the ones who are all friendly-like."   
  
*        *        *        *        *  
  
You literally had turned around for about three minutes and Gamzee had completely disappeared on you. The moron could barely string together two coherent thoughts yet he had still managed to give you the slip. A small part of you is impressed, but the rest of you is just highly annoyed. Banging shut the door to the foodblock, you pause to think. He had not been in any of his usual haunts, nor had Crabdad caught him sneaking out of the hive. There is a chance your lusus had been asleep on the job, or that Gamzee had left the hive by another exit. Still, this was getting ridiculous.  
  
As you debate whether or not you need to prepare a search party, you hear a muffled voice coming from the entrance. It sounds like Gamzee trying to convince your lusus not to eat him. Yet again. Heaving a sigh, you go to open the door for him before it devolves into grief. Yet again. Your life is a disaster.  
  
The instant you open the door, a large group of people stumble inside.   
  
"Good evening, Karkat," Kanaya manages to get in a proper greeting in the confusion.   
  
"Shut the door before he decides to try an take a chunk outta me again!" the thick accent of one large seadweller cuts through your stupor.   
  
"Hang on; I've got this," you growl. Stomping through them, you poke your head out the door frame and nearly have it taken off by a giant white pincer. "OY! CRABDAD, THESE ARE OUR FRIENDS COULD YOU CUT THAT THE FUCK OUT FOR LIKE TWO MINUTES? Also, your breakfast is in the back diningblock if you can behave yourself with guests in the hive."  
  
After shutting the door, you turn to the motley crew in front of you, "Okay. What the fuck is going on? Because the last time I checked, _you_ claimed you were never coming inland ever again and _you_ _two_ were supposed to be teaching John Alternian. Wait. Who's this?"  
  
"I can bring you up to speed on current events," the human you assume is Kanaya's girlfriend says. "It starts with this is John's sister, Jade, and ends with the aforementioned boy has been taken hostage by lusus poachers."  
  
You blink a few times. "What."  
  
"Perhaps we should give him a few more details than that," Kanaya cuts in gently. "You see, Jade and John grew up on a lusus breeding isle, which led Ampora here to believe that their family barkbeast was their lusus when in fact it is only... a very strange barkbeast with mysterious abilities. However, the point of the matter is that our sea prince refused to let John leave to go back to the isle because he thought Jade was safe with their shared lusus. When we arrived and cleared up this misconception-"  
  
"WHAT?!?" you interrupt. "KANAYA! I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT! WHAT IS THIS ABOUT JOHN BEING TAKEN HOSTAGE BY ASSMUNCHERS WHO HUNT LUSII? Uh, no offense Eridan. What you did was completely different and necessary."  
  
"Okay evveryone shut up!" snarls the violetblood. "Kar! Wwe lost track of the vvessel the poachers wwere sailin. Any ideas wwherre they mighta taken port?"  
  
"Uh, I know you think I magically have the answers to all your life problems, but why in the festering bulgerot would I have any idea where poachers make port?" you rub your forehead. "I mean, I can come up with some areas where they _might_ be lurking, but I'm not exactly the kinda guy who can waltz right up to a crew like that with my candy-colored blood. Hell, it's a miracle half the people I routinely speak with don't try to cull me, Mr. Death-to-all-Landdwellers."   
  
"Look, if this wwas a complete wwaste of time, just let us knoww so wwe can shovve off," Eridan starts to raise his voice at you. "I'm in no mood for finger-pointin, you fu-"  
  
The crack of a rifle at close range has you all scrambling, even the lout that is normally the one firing such weapons. Looking over, you see the human girl who looks like John disapprovingly glaring at the lot of you.  
  
"Stop. Fighting," she growls, low and dangerous and in fucking perfect Alternian. Beside her, the white barkbeast is also growling lowly, its hackles raised and head hanging low. The two look to be completely out of patience.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
Having quite enough of all the yelling and arguing in this very crowded space, you raise your rifle and fire into the air...er, ceiling. Everyone either scrambles a few paces away or at the very least jumps and reaches for a weapon. Then they all look at you in varying degrees of sheepishness.   
  
"Stop. Fighting," you tell them. Beside you, Bec grumbles and you let him, just this once. It would do them good to realize that you are not to be trifled with or ignored.   
  
"Although I cannot condone your methods, I do appreciate you stopping this from devolving further," Rose states.  
  
"Let them know that these stupid spats are not going to help us find my brother any faster," you follow her switch to English, just because you do not have all the nuances of the troll language yet. "Either these new guys can help, or we are leaving. I am not going to sit around and wait for these big babies to work out their problems while my little brother is missing."  
  
While she translates, you ease your stance just a little so that Bec will follow and stop snarling. They are all apologetic about the whole ordeal, and quickly turn to talking about (from what you can tell) possible places that poachers might use as a base of operations. Unfortunately, there appear to be a lot of them.   
  
"Too many," you sigh in Alternian.   
  
"Is there any way we can narrow down those choices?" the other human asks you.   
  
You ponder for a moment, "Perhaps... if there is some sort of trail to trace, Bec and I can check land routes. The problem is we need a scent for him to follow. One that does not cross water." You do not mention the other way you could track down your brother, since it would require him to be actively doing something he was never supposed to do in the first place.   
  
"So you require something of the poachers to help track them?" muses the blonde.  
  
"Not only theirs, but if someone crossed their path it would be enough. Once we find John's scent while on mainland we can follow it anywhere."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
As the girl confirms that she only needs someone who definitely had contact with John's trail to track, you begin to think. There is no way to determine for certain who had contact with the poachers unless they admitted that fact freely. Unlikely to happen. Therefore you had to go over your options carefully and select targets that would be _most_ likely to have been in the vicinity of criminals- specifically those who deal in the black market.   
  
"Perhaps we are thinking of this the wrong way," suggests your matesprit. "What do poachers normally do with lusii?"  
  
"Sell their carcasses?" Ampora suggests. "Certain rarer items can go for a spot a coin."   
  
"I think I've heard of underground markets that deal in things like that," nods Karkat. "Though who we could find that would tell us where one might be is anyone's guess. I haven't been in the market for any questionable goods for a couple sweeps now."  
  
"Kar!" the seadweller exclaims at the same time Kanaya gasps, "Karkat!"  
  
"What? I was a stupid pupa with a blood mutation," he rolls his eyes. "Of course I was looking into whatever resources I could get my grubby little mitts on. I never did actually buy much than a couple of upgrades for the hive. Couldn't afford half the medicines, even if they actually did a fraction of what the sellers would tell you."  
  
"Fuck, Kar," sighs Ampora. "You coulda just asked."  
  
"So, we are agreed that black markets are our best bet for finding lusus poachers?" you assess the group.  
  
"Yeah, the dark tents might up and have little bitty pieces of 'em," nods the lanky purpleblood from earlier. "Or the gladiator arenas. I check up on those places every so often for signs of Goatdad, but he never does show. Who we lookin for this time?"  
  
"His name is John," Kanaya explains with an air of slight impatience. "Ampora's moirail? The one we've been conversing about this whole time?"  
  
"Well that don't tell me much about who he be," shrugs the clown. "A name is what you call him."   
  
You understand the problem immediately, "He is a young human who looks a lot like Jade here, but with shorter hair and blue eyes."  
  
Something like recognition lights in his eyes as he stares at Jade, "Messy hair and blue eyes not like a cerulean or an indigo but somewhere between? Uses a hammer and has a bad arm?"   
  
There is a poignant pause before Ampora says very slowly and carefully, "Wwhere... did you see him?"  
  
"Little motherfucker was in the fighting arena last I was down there," shrugs Makara. "Weren't no fair them pickin on such a little guy- especially already wounded- but he gave them what for. Liked that. He had spunk so me and spiderbitch decided to help him out."  
  
"Vvriska?" Ampora looks poleaxed for about a second. Then he looks pissed off, "Don't tell me-"  
  
"Offered to bring him here but she up and thought I wouldn't take care of him. She took him to Zahak's place to get him patched up. Was about three nights ago when I saw him last. It's cool though- he's got his lusus with him."  
  
"What lusus?" you find yourself asking.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You place the castle piece from the board game on top of the toy boat which rests upon the small pile of books all carefully stacked on Otto's head. In his sleep, the otter lusus's nose twitches and you hold your breath for a moment. Then he is still again, so you silently pad off to search the cell for anything else you can use to add to your tower of objects. You had thought the boredom of Eridan's shipwrecked hive had been bad enough. Now you have been confined to a single room for _days_ and quite frankly you are running out of mindless tasks to keep yourself busy.   
  
It did not help that the only time you seemed to see the troll she kept the bars between the two of you. You do not exactly blame her for watching out for her own safety, but that did not mean you had to like being locked up like some sort of criminal. You spend a lot of time pacing the walls of the dungeon, feeling cramped. It is as if there is not enough room to fully stretch your legs, and you grow more and more restless with each hour. Coming up with ever more elaborate pranks you can pull on Eridan or Karkat once you see them again can only keep you entertained for so long.  
  
The sound of boots clumping down the stairs grab your attention. Must be your warden finally coming downstairs with the evening meal. At least, that is what you have come to expect from the last two days. Sure enough, she soon appears at the bottom of the stairwell with a tray in hand.   
  
"-- -- tonight? Who be good?"   
  
"Vriiiiiiiiska," you whine. "Want outside."  
  
"No, no, no," she grins knowingly at you. "Stay here -- --. Safe in your room."  
  
"Uuuuuuuuugh!" you draw out the sound. "Too small! Want outside. Want play."  
  
She wrinkles her nose and says something that you equate to 'stop being a big baby.' This has been her standard response to all of your complaints. However, you are quickly approaching tantrum levels of boredom. She is friendly enough, but you are not quite sure how she will respond to you actually acting like a young child. Instead, you flop onto the ground and lie there to think about anything else but how horribly dull the rest of the night will be.  
  
With a clatter of falling objects, Otto finally raises his head and yawns. Smiling, you pat his nose in apology (even if he did not seem to mind your antics). The woman makes a disgusted noise and you stick your tongue out at her. To this she makes a rude gesture which starts yet another one of your insult wars. While she is not as colorful as Karkat in her language, she seems to greatly enjoy the phrases you picked up from him. Sometimes you can literally leave her in gales of laughter.   
  
Too soon, though, she is bidding you farewell and climbing back up the staircase. Leaving you all alone. With absolutely nothing to do until she comes back. Yet again. Eyeing the cobblestone that makes up the far wall of your cell, you wonder how long it would take to chip away at the mortar and make an Otto-sized hole. You also wonder exactly how mad she would be to find her cell wall destroyed. Sighing, you put drastic measures off for another night. For now, you have a pile of pillows to sort through and see if there are any you can throw at the troll the next time she visits.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"- requires a certain amount of tact," Rose is saying, but you are not listening.  
  
Because right now, you are the most dangerous thing on the planet.  
  
Trolls can be vengeful about a lot of things- lusii murdered or friends killed- but none are as dangerous as those moirails who concillitators are in danger. Part of the theory of quadrants is that for as much that moirails can calm the volatile of the two, all that aggression is pent up and then released should they suddenly find themselves apart. You have enough rage that you are surprised that anyone is wiling to be within a hundred yards of you.  
  
"Take us here," you hand a blue-striped scarf, long banished to the depths of your sylladex, to Jade.   
  
She understands immediately, letting her white barkbeast sniff the item. This time when the world warps around you in a blinding green flash, you are not even phased. Instead, all of your attention is settled on the massive, foreboding structure before you. If Vriska had ever bothered to grow a sense of fear, she would have fortified her castle to be an impenetrable stronghold. Luckily she was as brazen as trolls come, and the front doors are unlocked.  
  
"Ampora, please reconsider your actions as Serket will be well within her rights to defend her hive from invaders and you two are no longer romantically involved," the jadeblood pleads with you.  
  
"Is no one going to mention how we just teleported via magical barkbeast?" Karkat loudly asks the group at large even as he trots to keep up with your longer strides. "Because I for one would have liked to have known that such a thing was even remotely possible _before_ we were sucked in and dropped off at spiderbitch's doorstep. Or, you know, if I've finally released the remains of my thinkpan to the madness that consumes Gamz."  
  
"Ain't no madness you can't drive away," consoles his moirail.  
  
"Shut up you dingbat! That is really not helping at the-"  
  
"What. The fuck. Is going on?" a gravely voice asks, somehow still flipping all the wrong switches in you even after all this time. As you whirl around, you see her cerulean eyes widen before a sneer sets in, "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me."  
  
"Look, Serket, this isn't at all what it looks like," supplies Karkat.  
  
"Really? Because it looks to me like a fucking hive invasion from a scorned ex-kismesis," she snarls. "I don't know what _you_ are thinking, Kanaya, but I assure you we have no need of your ashen services. In fact, there is nothing more to talk about at all, so you can write that right off. And why did you have to bring that stupid fucking clown of all people?"  
  
"Hey Vris-sis," the aforementioned juggalo smiles a dopey grin and gives a lazy wave.  
  
"Riiiiiiiight," drawls the woman. "Don't call me that. Ever. So is anyone going to tell me what is going on?"  
  
"Where. Is. John?" you finally are calm enough to form coherent words, gritting your teeth to force them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit has it really been this long?? wow. well to give you all excuses- i now work over 100 hours a week. and i have for awhile now ((since the beginning of may)). i also have been struggling with my health for a long, long time now. i wont go into details but there it is. i am serious when i say i have no intentions of ever discontinuing my stories- they just might go on the back burner for longer than either of us would like
> 
> you have all been awesome and i appreciate it so much


	11. The Reveal

Your eyes narrow as you take in the motley crew again, ".... Gamzee, what did you tell them?"  
  
He languidly answers, "Just that you up and took the little guy to get patched up and all that."  
  
"This is all perfectly reasonable," begins the blonde human. "If you would just allow us to explain-"  
  
"It had better be short and sweet, or I'm evicting you all from the premises, effective immediately," you cut her off before she can ramble like Fussyfangs likes to speak.  
  
"John is Eridan's moirail," Karkat announces loudly over the irritated rumblings of the others.  
  
"...what."  
  
"I know, hard to believe anyone wants this flippered fucker as a quadrantmate, let alone in the pale one, but the kid has been good for him. So I think I speak for us all when I say please return the annoying little shit so Prince of Seafoam here will step off our collective shame globes and return to his hive of brine and self-pity moaning," the nubby-horned troll eloquently summarizes.  
  
You briefly consider, "Sure. I'll take him to John. The rest of you stay up here by the entrance. You hear me? No wandering, no exploring, no snooping! I'm looking right at you, Fussyfangs!"  
  
Ignoring her spluttering denials, you wait for Ampora to approach before turning and leading the way down to the dungeons. Even as you descend the stairs, you kick a random piece of junk here and there to move them out of the way. Still, despite your attempts to make the hive relatively safer in the event your temporary guest became less temporary, you find at least two more chunks of doomsday devices. You captchalogue them and ignore the severe expression on Ampora's face. By the time you enter the dungeon proper, it feels like the air is literally shimmering with his barely-contained rage.  
  
"Oh you have _got_ to be shitting me," you exclaim to the empty room.  
  
The door to the cell that had previously been inhabited by your guest is lying on the ground. It looks as if it had simply been removed from its hinges and then gently placed aside. In fact, when you consider the sheer size of the otter lusus, that was probably exactly what happened. Strangely enough, all the contents of the room are still in place, down to the tray of food you had left earlier this evening.  
  
"You had John. In a cell?" the violetblood is practically quivering with anger.  
  
"Hey, it was the safest place in the entire hive, okay?" you defend yourself. "Besides my collection of semi-functional doomsday devices that a certain asshole had me working on, there are at least eighty-eight piles of random sharp objects in various places. Not to mention my lus- oh. Oh no."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
As you poke around the large open room that is Vriska's 'entryway,' you begin to realize that something is amiss. The last time you had been in the castle, you are certain there had been so much stuff lying about that you had chided her abilities to even form piles, let alone keep them in sensible places. Of course, the ceruleanblood had scoffed at your offer to help tidy up and snarled when you suggested she devote a block or two to her junk. The lack of dangerous objects is not restricted to the entryway, as the rooms you can peer into are also looking decidedly less cluttered.  
  
When you hear them returning up the stairs, you remark, "Vriska... did you actually clean up the entire hive?"  
  
"No time for that," she huffs. "John's missing."  
  
"What?" Karkat freezes in the middle of fussing over Gamzee's inability to comb his hair. "How the fuck do you lose a kid in your own hive? He's been here like, what, three nights? And you've already lost track of him. What kind of backwards-assed dickery is that?"  
  
A glance over Ampora shows that your aquatic acquaintance is nearing his breaking point. You kindly make a suggestion, "We did not see him when we were outside, so he could not have gotten very far. Let us split up and search the hive."  
  
"Good idea," supports your matesprit.  
  
"Karkat's coming with me then," the seadweller demands. "He's about the only one I'm least likely to throttle at the moment."  
  
"Thanks, Eridan. I think you're just swell, too," the tiny troll rolls his eyes.  
  
"Let us not get carried away," you attempt to defuse the situation. "Since Vriska, Eridan, and I all know the layout of the hive, we should split up into groups such that we may act as guides. I would also be wary about letting the humans wander unattended, as Vriska's lusus is not the most charitable."  
  
"Alright, well we can take Jade with us," ponders Karkat. "I know you don't want to be separated from Rose, so that works out fine. Can I trust you with Gamzee?"  
  
"Actually, I would rather you and Gamzee stick together," you grimace. "Besides, Jade has trouble communicating without Rose. Therefore... Eridan? Take care of them."  
  
"Eh? You want _me_ to take the two humans?" his expression is incredulous.  
  
"Vriska will not need any backup in her own hive," you patiently point out. "I would rather have at least one heavy hitter in each group. That would be you and, regrettably, Makara. Provided we can get him to focus on anything for more than two seconds."  
  
"Blah, blah, let's get going already!" Vriska is impatient as always. "Just don't touch any of my stuff! Also, I haven't fed my lusus since I got back with the little guy, so keep your guards up!"  
  
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, you turn and beckon for your group to follow. If nothing else, perhaps you can get a bit of peace with the incessant growling of Ampora moving in the opposite direction. Still, there is a lot of hive to cover; Vriska is not known for her modesty and her castle is no different. You only hope that you can find John before trouble finds him.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"Gamzee, if you don't stop dawdling I will shove a sickle so far up your ass that you will taste nothing but steel for the next perigree," you loudly announce. "Seriously, how are you this slow? I've seen shellbeasts faster than you right now. Quit gawking at all the admittedly freaky shit spiderbitch stores in her hive and move your fronds in a timely fashion."  
  
"Shit, invertebro, I don't mean to up and ruin the search party," he smiles languidly in your direction. "There's just so much cool motherfuckin things everywhere I can't help it. I'll try and tame my peepers for a bit."  
  
"While you're at it, look with your ocular globes, not your phalanges," you grab his wrist and start trying to hustle him along. "I have no idea what half this shit even is for, but I would be inclined to believe that most of it is dangerous just by virtue of being owned by Serket. Keep your hands to yourself so I don't have to shank her for any injuries you receive, okay?"  
  
"I am certain that most of these objects are not even complete, let alone functional," assures your guide. "However, I would also greatly appreciate it if we could pick up the pace. We have not even completed our search of this level's blocks."  
  
"Awesome," you grumble before yelling, "JOHN!! JOHN, IF YOU ARE IN HERE PLEASE COME TOWARDS THE MELODIOUS SOUND OF MY INHERENTLY GRAVELY SCREAMING! I SWEAR TO FUCK I WILL PUNCH YOU IF YOU ARE HIDING AND LET ERIDAN STOMP MY THORACIC CAGE FLAT LATER." You wait a few moments, "Yeah, I'm gonna guess he's not on this level. Let's head up a bit further."  
  
Kanaya winces, "That was... probably the most efficient option, if not the most pleasant. There is a stairwell this way, I believe."  
  
As graceful as ever, she practically floats ahead of you along a narrow path between piles of junk. You have no idea how Gamzee is managing to follow her without tripping over his own feet, let alone knocking anything over. Of course, that means that you are the one who hip-checks a perilous stack of equipment and it crashes all around you. Most of that shit better have not worked in the first place, because you are pretty fucking sure it is broken now.  
  
"...If we do not tell Vriska, perhaps she will not even notice," offers the jadeblood.  
  
"Deal," you groan. "I'm just surprised nothing impaled me. Or blew up. Explosions seem her style. Flashy and loud."  
  
"Here, motherfucker," Gamzee puts a hand under each armpit and physically lifts you out of the mess you have made. "No harm; no foul. Just a bit more of a mess. Ain't no way our fine invertesis will hold it against you."  
  
"Sure," you roll your eyes as he places you back on solid ground. "She totally isn't one to go overboard or anything."  
  
"I think you have irreparably stained your boots," frowns Kanaya.  
  
"I hope the others are having better luck than we are," you grouse.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"No one mentioned that lusii came in giant spider," Jade growls lowly as her strife specibus ejects a rifle into her waiting hands. Bec snarls and crackles with green electricity.  
  
"Please do remember that this is Serket's caretaker and she will most certainly be pissed if we kill it," you attempt to mediate the situation. As the creature draws closer, however, and clacks its mandibles, you add, "However I also much prefer being alive and undigested, so let us try to stun it or drive it away."  
  
The sea troll is frowning, "I don't knoww wwhat either of you are sayin, but I suggest keeping out a range. That thing's fuckin vvenomous."  
  
"Wonderful," you sarcastically reply.  
  
"Eridan?" a voice calls down the hall.  
  
Everyone freezes and glances past the angry lusus. Standing at an intersection of corridors is none other than John himself, somehow looking even worse than before. Then again, perhaps Gamzee had not embellished his tale of the gladiator arena with enough details. His wounds have multiplied, bruises and scrapes joining his broken arm. The large, lithe figure that hovers over him looks to be some sort of white mustelid. It bares its fangs and hisses. The spider hisses back, turning to face this new threat.  
  
With a frown, John's signature weapon comes out. "I've had just about enough of you," he shakes the hammer at the lusus. "Shoo! Bad spider!"  
  
You are almost entirely certain that the spider clacks and clicks before turning around again because of the otter lusus currently threatening it and not the young, injured human. Unfortunately, that means it is once again facing your group. With a muttered curse, you lunge to the side and roll as the giant arachnid charges. You see Jade and Bec materialize in a flash of green light to one side and know they also managed to get out of the way. A furious scream, however, tells you that the third member of your party was not as lucky.  
  
Whirling around, you see Eridan thwack the spider's face with the butt of his rifle. Said face had mandibles buried into his shoulder. When it detaches with a wet sound, a trail of pale green drips from white fangs. Oh dear. That is very not good. With a kick, the seatroll manages to push back the lusus and get some breathing room. However, his face is already growing pale.  
  
"Shit. Fuck. John!" his attention is still divided as he fumbles with his weapon.  
  
"Eridan!" the boy calls back. His eyes grow wide as his moirail, breath ragged, slumps to his knees. The spider, momentarily driven away, looks around again for something to attack. Serket certainly had not been exaggerating when she claimed that her guardian was both dangerous and hungry. The monstrosity quickly decides that of all the options, the quickly flagging highblood is the easiest target.  
  
"ERIDAN!" the boy screams as the arachnid lunges.  
  
Suddenly, you feel a prickle at the back of your neck. Without further warning, hurricane-force winds blast through the corridor. You throw your arms up to protect your face, squinting to keep your eyes open. The giant body of the spider lusus careens past you, just to your left, and down the hallway. Looking forward, you see a bright blue light that obscures everything else. It emanates from a spot in the air, wind rushing forth from it and stinging your eyes.  
  
" _TAUFUN- _SAUDARA_! __BERHENTI!_ " yells Jade, voice full of authority as she raises a hand.  
  
The light winks out of existence, leaving behind bright globules in your vision and the plummeting form of John. Before he can crash into the ground, the otter lusus stretches out a paw and breaks his fall. Then it curls protectively around him, hissing defiantly. In front of you, Ampora struggles upright, managing to only rise to his knees.  
  
"John?" calls out the seatroll. "John, you alright?"  
  
Although there is no answer, you see the other human and her dog rush forward. The new lusus allows her to draw close enough to ascertain her brother's health. Then she stands, shoulders squared and turns back to you and the seatroll. Your brain finally emerges from the shock of the situation.  
  
As you realize what has just happened, Jade levels her rifle directly at you, "We're leaving now."  
  
"He's... you're both..." Words finally click into place, "The Dreamer clan?"  
  
She stiffens and then says bitterly, "For you to know, you must really hail from the old tales. A real live _pengkhianat_. Grandpa Harley warned me that your kind still walked the world. He never said the Witchers would wear such a convincing smile."  
  
"Wwait. John?" the seatroll struggles to form words.  
  
"Goodbye, and do not come looking for us," she warns. Then they are gone.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
When your brother awakes, it is back in his old room on the island. He is briefly confused, but sleep reclaims him before he can learn much more than you are there. The next time he wakes up, you have given him enough potions to still his questions. You hate seeing him like this, you really do, but it is better for him to be a befuddled zombie than have yet _another_ psychotic break. You are quite certain that the eastern side of the island still has not recovered from that particular incident.  
  
The lusus is an interesting addition. Although you keep attempting to drive it off, it keeps returning. Even having Bec teleport the annoyance away is apparently only a temporary solution. With a sigh, you watch as it once again creeps into your brother's room and curls around him. The happy murmurs, however, stay your hand from sending it away again. Perhaps having a creature help look after your disaster of a brother is not such a bad idea. After all, he is constantly finding new and exciting ways to keep you on your toes.  
  
When separated from your influence, the magic seals you place weaken over time. It does not help that his elemental affinity is far stronger than your manipulations. This means that eventually, inevitably, his magic overcomes your own. Unfortunately, Johnathan Egbert is not aware that he is an avatar of storms. In fact, he does not know that the Dreamer Clan exists beyond fanciful tales told to you both when you were young. This is because every single time John uses his bloodgiven abilities, his mind breaks under the guilt and horror, leaving you to pick up the pieces.  
  
The first time was when you were both very young. A wild beast cornered the two of you while Bec and Grandpa Harley were distracted with five more. You were injured- not even that seriously- and your brother had released the tempest from within himself. He demolished the lusii and very nearly killed Grandpa Harley. The second time he actually did kill people- a crew of pirates who were attempting to... prove they were stronger than a "feral witch" such as yourself. They were not stronger than your brother. The third time, he destroyed a quarter of the island.  
  
Suffice to say that your brother has an impressive history of losing control of his ability in the most gloriously disastrous way possible. The next step usually involves him trying to destroy _himself_ in a similar fashion. You are quite done dealing with that and have opted instead to skip that point in favor of ushering in the third step which is John sinking into denial and pushing the event to the furthest reaches of his subconscious. Your potions also help, sealing away memories and abilities until he is almost a normal person like the sailors who occasionally drop by the island.  
  
"You must have realized that we were going to check this island first," a voice breaks into your musing.  
  
You keep staring at the building, lulling your brother back to sleep with your own will, "Hmm, perhaps. Maybe I expected a Witcher to have a better sense of self-preservation. He would have killed you both, you know."  
  
"Is his control so tenuous?" Rose pries.  
  
"I have heard no reason why I shouldn't just have Bec toss you all right off the island again," you point out.  
  
"Let his moirail speak with him," says the girl. "He may not know exactly what is going on here, but I have a feeling that neither does John. Allow them to sort this out as their quadrant is meant to do."  
  
Something in your heart pinches, " At this point there's very little more damage that can be done. Half an hour. That is all I'll give. Tell him to make the most of it."  
  
There is some soft murmuring before the seatroll (giving you a wide berth) trudges to the house. Under your watchful eye he sidles through the door. After a few moments, you hear an exclamation and the angry chittering of an otter lusus. Eventually, things settle down. You wait, baleful gaze trained on the window. Beside you, the others settle down. There are two options. Either your brother will emerge stronger than before or you will banish these intruders to the furthest place Bec can reach. You are done trusting his fate to strangers.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
Something is pulling at your shoulder, driving away the deep slumber that had its claws in your mind. Eyes blurred and a fog in your head, you squint at the shape. Although everything is dark or shades of gray, there is a distinct outline that you recognize. Also horns. Those help too. However, your brain takes a moment to place this information.  
  
"Eri...dan?" you wonder aloud.  
  
"John!" his voice sounds relieved. "Thank --! You okay?"  
  
"Nnngh," you grumble, attempting to pull yourself into a sitting position. When hands gently take your shoulders to help, you hear a growl. All around you, the soft world shifts. You pat the scenery, knowing that somehow it will help. The rumbling stops, and eventually your moirail is able to pull you up into his lap. Slumping forward, you feel him tuck your head up under his chin and his arms wrap around you. Then he gives a soft hum.  
  
Thus ensconced in familiarity, you attempt to drag out your memories of how exactly you ended up with a head full of wool. Nothing comes to mind. There is a nagging feeling though that you had done something that you were not supposed to do, like falling asleep on the deck or setting up pranks in the armory. Neither of those really strike true as the problem, though. Something much more fundamentally wrong has happened.  
  
"Eridan... John do bad?" you ask, somewhat apprehensive about the answer.  
  
A startled laugh rings your ears, "No! John good. Very good. So good. John keep Eridan safe."  
  
You relax upon hearing those words, "Who?"  
  
" _How_?" enunciates the seatroll carefully. If you had the ability at the moment, you would smack him playfully. Instead, he continues carefully, "John... -- --... uh, sky stuff spider. Make go away."  
  
You hum into his shoulder. Sky. Stuff. That seems significant somehow, but the words are not quite right. There is a wall there when you try to think about it. Something burns in your chest the harder you push. Still, this is important. The way that Eridan is handling you like broken pottery signifies how important it is. You are close to knowing something, you can feel it. Quite suddenly, you feel ill.  
  
Leaning over to the side, you vomit. The taste is rancid and, if you can trust your eyes, the color is practically glowing. Almost as soon as you eject the contents of your stomach, you feel immediately better. Your vision (and mind) begins to clear. A large, slightly clammy hand rubs your back in soothing circles as you gasp and cough. The world springs back into existence around you.  
  
You are in your old room. It is almost exactly how you left it, possessions scattered about haphazardly and dappled sunlight flitting through the window. Otto is there, making distraught snuffling noises. Looking up you can see that Eridan's face is pale and drawn, filled with worry. Murmuring placations to him, you drag the back of a hand over your mouth. Bluh. Still, it is worth the mental clarity. You can feel yourself growing closer to the thought that has been evading you.  
  
"Windy thing," you announce suddenly, as if that is the answer to everything. Then you fall into darkness.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
With your moirail bundled up into your arms (and his newly-acquired lusus hovering right behind you), you emerge from the hive with the single-minded intention of ripping into someone. John is utterly _wrecked_ and you have no idea why. You have seen this before, though. It is a lot like what Makara looked like the one time you saw him during a particularly awful pie binge. Feeding a human sopor slime, however, is probably more deadly rather than soporific. Still, the point is that he is so high he is physically sick.  
  
You hone in on his sister, "Wwhat did you givve to him?"  
  
Her expression softens upon seeing his drawn face, "Help John forget."  
  
"What's wrong?" asks Karkat with no volume control. "What's this about giving him stuff?"  
  
"He's... he's acting like _your_ moirail," you growl. "Except it's not sopor slime he's jacked up on. I don't knoww wwhat- I don't knoww howw to make him better. Rose, ask her wwhat to do to make him better."  
  
There is a brief exchange at first. You can already tell that you are not going to like the answer. The longer they talk, the more impatient you become. This is about her littermate, for crying out loud. You would think that she would be wanting to help him instead of making him even more confused and sick. Apparently things are not as simple as you would prefer.  
  
With a long suffering sigh, Kanaya prompts, "Rose, darling? I believe that the rest of the party would quite like to be brought up to speed with the conversation."  
  
"Understandable," she says, then turns to you. "She claims that John is not aware that he can do the... for lack of a better term, air magic. Every time he does it, he goes into emotional and mental turmoil that she then... treats with certain substances to cause short-term memory impairment. To say that he is 'jacked up' on sopor slime is a rather apt description, from what I understand of both conditions. Apparently she normally just lets him sleep it off. He will be confused and uncoordinated for a couple days, but otherwise relatively unharmed."  
  
You grit your fangs, "I wwouldn't say that havving his head fucked wwith is 'unharmed.'"  
  
"You should make that little motherfucker up and puke," sagely advises the land highblood. "Speaking from experience, it's best to get that wicked concoction out earlier rather than later."  
  
"He's already done that once," you begrudgingly admit.  
  
"So you guys were actually serious when you said he fucking blasted Serket's lusus through a window? And his sister was the only thing that stopped him from very nearly doing the same thing to you and Rose? Blistering nookrot, are you serious? He looks like he'd break in half if I yelled at him hard enough. He shouldn't be able to do magical hoofbeastshit to form tornadoes," rants Karkat, loudly.  
  
With an annoyed snuffle, the boy shifts in your arms. You instinctively cradle him closer, and his brow smooths as he settles. Honestly, the idea that your moirail is some kind of human version of a psychic is not bothering you nearly as much as it probably should. There is, of course, the question as to whether this will affect his already dreadfully-short lifespan, but you are too afraid to ask at the moment. Perhaps you will always be too afraid to ask. Otherwise, you see no reason why his ability to do some sort of wind control is a big deal. You certainly know trolls with more powerful psychic abilities (such as the twice-blighted Captor).  
  
"I will perhaps explain at a later time the significance of all this," muses the light-haired human. "For now, though, let us concentrate on getting John well enough to travel. I am sure that all of us will feel more at ease once we put this place, and its other inhabitants, behind us."  
  
*        *        *        *        *  
  
As the others sleep, you search the island for any sign of a Capricorn. It surprisingly does not take long for you to find one. Sadly, it is not your lusus. Neither are the next three you find. With empty hands and a heavy heart, you return to the humans' hive, although it takes some time to wander back. Who could have guessed that the crumbling white towers could be so easily hidden in the jungle? Even in the dying light of the setting sun, the building is well ensconced by the surrounding vegetation.  
  
Walking through the front door, you note that John is up again. Saying he is awake would be incorrect, seeing as how his eyes are glowing that strange bright blue. Not wanting to wake the others, you chucklevoodoo the shit out of him before he can blast you back out of the hive. He goes down, hard, unconscious for the time being. Breathing a soft sigh of relief, you lope the rest of the way into the block. Scooping up the mite, you duck into his room and drop him off on his weird little sleeping platform.  
  
That done, you wander into the mealblock. That is where you find the Rose human, perfect appearance in slight disarray. For a moment, the two of you simply eye each other.  
  
"He is proving to be quite dangerous to have in this state," she notes.  
  
You shrug, "No more than any other motherfucking psychic. Though I wonder where be his flippered diamond, or his littermate."  
  
"Jade went looking for you," admonishes the prim thing. "And Eridan went to blow off some steam hunting. Luckily Kanaya and Karkat were still asleep when John... got up. He mostly just wandered about the hive. I think he might have been looking for his sister."  
  
Grunting, you make your way over to a cabinet and pull out some food. Then you turn back to her, "He'll wake up sooner or later. Then his palemate can set him right as rain."  
  
She hums in agreement, pushing a mug to you as you sit down at the crude table. Looking around, you wonder at what kind of life these humans had once had. The building itself has good bones, a veritable fortress made of white stone; yet, it has obviously fallen into disrepair for quite some time. Plants have overgrown and claimed many surfaces as their own, slowly pulling the rocks out of place. Very few of the windows even still have glass (although you can guess why that is, after seeing what John could do to such frail structures). All in all, it reminds you of the tales Tavbro used to tell you of his adventures exploring the ruins of old civilizations.  
  
"I think, provided that we can keep him contained for a period, that he will eventually break down again," she draws your awareness back to the problem at hand. "His sister might have been right to keep him unaware of his abilities."  
  
You scrub your neck, "Shit, sister, that's not up and in my purview. I just came along to keep my lil' motherfucker from strangling or being strangled by Eridan's lil' motherfucker. I can't say I know much about how to calm down a psychic brother, bein' that I'm usually the one needing the papping. Best we just let the moirails sort their shit out on their own."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You glance over the two people who are awake earlier than you are, "Good evening, Makara. I did not expect you to be up this early."  
  
He shrugs, all loose movements, "Went for a stroll 'round the island. Saw a few lusii. Put John back to bed. Nothin' too interesting."  
  
"Ah, I take it that he was... wandering again?" you struggle to find the proper term.  
  
Your matesprit sighs, "He was indeed wandering. Luckily he had little interest in leaving the hive, as I am not sure I would have been able to stop him. Ampora should be back in a few hours, hopefully, and can take over sentry duty. At this rate, John will be wandering again... by moonset at latest from my estimates. My foresight is being incredibly vague whenever the Dreamer clan is involved. I am unsure if this is due to Jade's own abilities or some other force."  
  
You glance from her to the highblood troll. He immediately shakes his head, "Naw, don't look at a brother like that. From what I got from Serket before we up and left, mind powers don't work the same on humans. At most she could make him take a nap. It's all I've tried to do to any of them. My 'rail would be super yelly if I up and tried to put the fear in him."  
  
You grimace, "I agree that chucklevoodoos are probably not the most helpful ability at the moment. They likely would just cause his subconscious to lash out in a more violent manner."  
  
Makara only grunts, already his focus shifted from you to his meal. Judging this to be the end of the conversation, you join them at the table and take the proffered mug. A crackle of power and a bright green flash of light announces the return of Jade. Stumbling to a halt next to her is Ampora. He looks none-too-pleased about his sudden arrival.  
  
"How unexpected," blinks Rose. "I suppose I shall make some more tea."  
  
"Someone tell me wwhy I'm not allowwed to shoot the wwild lusii?" snarls the seadweller. "It's not like they havve pupas to go home to or anythin'."  
  
"Jade and John act as guardians and protectors of the entire island," your matesprit informs the room at large. "Although they do fight the native population of creatures, they avoid actually killing any of them. It is in the nature of the Dreamer clan to act as stewards, not ruthless rulers."  
  
"You have mentioned several times this clan business," you frown as Karkat stumbles into the block. "I feel that the rest of us are not quite sure of what you are speaking of so blithely. Would now perhaps be an appropriate time to elaborate on the situation?"  
  
She is up and putting the kettle on, he back turned to the rest of you, "Hmm, I suppose since everyone is gathered and we have all night before us, now is as good a time as any." Gathering two more mugs, she returns to the table and sits, "It is somewhat of a convoluted story, I'm afraid. The details have been passed down through generations and might not be entirely accurate. However, Jade may be able to provide information previously lost."  
  
"Story time first thing in the evening?" quips Karkat as he flops down into his seat next to his moirail. "Fucking fantastic. Someone hand me some caffeine so I don't snore too loudly." Despite his prickly demeanor, you know he will be absorbed with the tale in moments. Makara does the entire group a favor by gently pushing his own tea into the tiny troll's hand.  
  
"Let us see, before the story proper begins, I should explain that normal humans are not able to do things such as magic- what you would call psychic abilities. In fact, regular humans fear such powers and any individuals showing propensity for such magic are shunned and their lines stamped out of existence. There are two notable exceptions to this rule- the Witcher clan, which specializes in illusions and other supportive magic, and the Dreamer clan, which focuses more on elemental magic.  
  
"These two clans saw the benefit of having such powers and carefully nourished these bloodlines until they began to develop more powerful abilities." She pauses for a moment, "The two clans conducted their affairs in completely different manners. The Witchers used their abilities to gain positions of influence and power, flaunting their psychic abilities. The Dreamers, on the other hand, hid their abilities from the general populace, but used them to aid others altruistically. Of course, eventually all secrets come to light."  
  
"Big fight," inserts Jade, expression severe.  
  
"...more or less," acquiesces Rose.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You squint, gaze hopping from one human to another, "Ooookay, but why should certain 'bloodlines' having psychic powers make things such a big deal? Also, how are any of your human psychics on the top of the caste system?"  
  
"The caste system of humans involves money and political influence, not actual accomplishments or abilities," Kanaya's matesprit's mouth quirks. "Much like the hemocaste system, humans who are on the top are mostly there due to circumstances of birth and sheer luck than anything else."  
  
You snort, "Figures that even your species fucks that up, too."  
  
She continues, "As for why the Dreamers hiding their abilities was significant... Hmm, how can I put this? In terms of caste, the Witcher clan would be highbloods, maybe even seadwellers, while the Dreamers would be closer to bronze or goldbloods. Through choice, of course. I always theorized that they preferred being part of the masses instead of placing themselves above others, but we may never know for certain. Of course, this means that when the Witcher clan found out that they had potential rivals, ousting them was easy.  
  
"They simply provided the masses with the information and watched unruly mobs lynch the Dreamers," Rose's voice is clipped. "What few remnants of the family branches survived were summarily hunted down and extinguished. All in the name of the safety of the public. With their position at the top secured, the Witcher clan continued to flourish."  
  
For a moment you all sit at the table quietly.  
  
"Well, that sure was a story of typical highblood ruthlessness and plotting," you summarize. "However, that does not really answer the question as to how Jade and John are a thing if your ancestors brutally murdered their ancestors."  
  
"Dreamers hide," the dark-haired human supplies. "Run away. Hide. Secret place."  
  
"There is a reason this island is not on any maps," concludes the other human. "I am not sure how they managed it, but the surviving Dreamers must have arranged for this place to never be found. Of course, with their natural abilities they likely were able to dissuade many curious travelers and explorers from getting too close. After all, even John, who has only recently had access to his ability, is quite a formidable force."  
  
"So are John and Jade in danger from your people?" questions Eridan, surprisingly calm for the implication behind his statement. The tension in the room spikes as the present Dreamer watches the blonde carefully.  
  
Rose appears to actually consider it for a moment, "I do not believe so. For myself and my sister, we enjoy subverting the expectations of our caste and rank in unusual manners; neither of us have any interest in politics. There is the question of our cousins, but they are likewise unorthodox in how they use their positions. You must understand that it has been many generations since the incidents I speak of, and the older generation has already begun handing over the reins to-"  
  
"Eridan?" a voice thick with sleep calls from the doorway. Glancing over, you see that John is up again. However, this time his eyes are squinting blearily and not glowing bright blue. Rubbing at one eye with a fist, he sways unsteadily on his feet. He still looks like Hell chewed him up and spat him back out, but the unhealthy sheen of sweat and unnatural pallor are absent.  
  
Instantly his moirail is up and lumbering forward. Without even bothering to do a once-over for injuries, he scoops up the little human. There is a small squeak, but otherwise John tolerates this treatment much as the countless other times the giant seadweller has picked him up. The others give small sighs of relief, glad that for once it is the John you all know and not the bright-eyed stranger wearing his face.  
  
"Wwant go home," the kid says before passing out again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess whos back
> 
> edit:: also check out this cute fanart!! http://perytontoon.tumblr.com/post/143036775682/eridan-sollux-and-karkat-from-honey-and-vinegar


	12. Reconciliation

"You do realize that we could have waited to return to your hive?" you helpfully point out as the clouds above continue to darken.  
  
"He said he wwanted to go home," snarls the seadweller. "Also, wwe are probably safer there than on that fuckin' breeding isle."  
  
Jade rolls her eyes, "Stupid people."  
  
"Amen to that," grumbles the nubby-horned troll.  
  
Where Makara stands at the mast, his lilting voice drifts, "Storm's up and gonna lay the smack down on a brother. Better hang tight, motherfuckers, and hope the swells ain't too big."  
  
From where he is ensconced in his moirail's arms, John stirs as the ship is jostled by another large wave. His eyes flutter open, eyebrows drawn together, "Hmm?"  
  
"Just a storm. Go back to sleep," soothes Eridan, personality completely mellowed.  
  
" _Taufun_?" he questions, but his eyes are already closing again. You are somewhat worried that his inability to remain conscious is a result of using his ability so freely and not a side-effect of the potions his sister was administering to him. Thus you have been watching him closely during this trip. So when he eyes open again only moments later, you are the first to note the bright blue glow.  
  
Before you can so much as utter a warning, the small body has lithely slid out from Ampora's grasp and bare feet touch briefly on the wood planks. This is quite possibly the most catastrophic timing for the zombie-walker to reappear. As the others rush forward, attempting to get him down before he can make things any worse, a sudden gust of wind bursts from his position. Everyone, yourself included, is forced to stand their ground or risk getting blown over.  
  
After ensuring that all of you are not a threat, the unnatural gaze turns towards the skies. As always, his expression is completely blank and still, making any guesses at what comes next impossible. Then in the center of a maelstrom, the kid begins to rise up into the air slowly.  
  
"John!" the seadweller attempts to push past the resistance to approach his moirail.  
  
However, Jade grabs his arm and holds him in place, "Wait."  
  
You all watch as he floats further and further up into the sky. Finally he is nothing more than a blue glow among the clouds. There it pulses for a few moments, as if testing the waters. Suddenly the brightness swells, becoming painful to look at as the wind begins to turn. With a shudder, everything rushes towards the eye of the storm. After a few brief moments of chaos, everything is still. The winds have vanished, along with the thunderclouds ahead. Even the waves have stilled.  
  
The only thing that marks the starry sky is a small figure suspended in front of the pink moon.  
  
Slowly, it begins to descend. Hardly daring to breathe, you watch as the force of nature trapped in a human form touches down again on the deck. Still expressionless, it observes all of you warily eyeing it. By now even Karkat has learned that sudden motions or loud noises lead to only one outcome. Retaliation. This has led you to encouraging Jade and Makara into using their own abilities to quickly knock it out until John awakens instead of this... blank slate.  
  
"John?" the amphibious troll hesitantly edges forward.  
  
"Vvvvvrrrr tttssss sssshhhh," is the incomprehensible reply, sounding as if it were a rush of wind through trees instead of a voice.  
  
You all stare.  
  
"Did- Did he just try to _talk_ while in windy murdermode?" Karkat's eyes are wide. This certainly is a new development.  
  
"John?" his moirail tries again. "Wwe appreciate the help, but could ya go back to sleep noww?"  
  
"Ttttsssshhhhhh," the noise emanates from his open mouth without moving a muscle. Then, without warning, his head snaps to the side and an arm is flung up. Wind rushes forth, slamming into Makara and knocking him clean off the deck. Even as Jade has Bec fetch the highblood from the waters, John is spreading arms wide. Slamming his palms together in front of him, the gathered air blasts forward into the sail, jolting the small boat back into motion.  
  
As you all are knocked to the deck, you see the form turn again, eyes still glowing. Then Jade is holding a hand out, bright green wisps announcing her own powers. Besides a small eddy of air currents, there is little resistance. The blue lights wink out, and her brother crumples to the wooden planks. Ampora stomps past a sopping wet Makara to scoop up his moirail and act personally affronted by the whole affair.  
  
"Shit, maybe I should have asked before trying to conk a brother out," the lanky troll has the gall to look sheepish. "He's certainly getting less and less fond of my interference, so to speak."  
  
"I do believe that his subconscious was trying to be helpful," your matesprit announces. "Considering the fact that he only has ever attacked in what he probably perceives as self-defense, there is a good chance that he simply does not understand what is happening around him. In fact, he probably does not have access to his memories in that state. He simply awakens somewhere, assesses the situation, and acts accordingly."  
  
"Maybe," you reluctantly concede. "However, this does not make him any less of a danger."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
Your brother's moirail lives on an actual shipwreck.  
  
You are not entirely sure what you were expecting, to be honest. It certainly was not the dilapidated old battleship split nearly in half upon some rocky outcropping. The crowsnest is almost horizontal at this point, and the forward mast is snapped only a few feet up. Sheesh. Climbing the rigging to the deck, you are still thoroughly unimpressed. As Bec teleports to your side, you poke around the few objects scattered on the weathered planks.  
  
The others slowly join you, grumbling or silently. Rose and Kanaya are dainty things, almost fluid in their movements. You certainly never would have expected a Witcher to be so charming, but obviously some things hide under the skin like poison in certain plants. Needless to say, you will be keeping a very close eye on her until she proves herself trustworthy. Deceit is in her blood as sure as any powers over others minds she may have inherited. Her matesprit is under just as much scrutiny. (You may have an advantage with Bec helping keep an eye on everyone.)  
  
Karkat is loud and stockily built, but not much of a threat. Movements controlled and contained, he is probably used to limiting himself due to his rage. In a fight, he would be easy to predict and summarily redirect. His lanky moirail, however, is an unknown quantity. You have seen him move, lightning fast, when confronted with the full power of John's winds. You have also witnessed him trip over his own feet and faceplant into a puddle. That makes him somewhat hard to get a read on, especially when he side-eyes people like he is sizing them up the same way you do openly.  
  
Eridan, the large predator of a troll, is still fussing over John. He, quite frankly, has not _stopped_ hovering over your brother since he showed up on the island a second time. He carries him around, taking care not to jostle him, and has adapted to doing most things with one hand for the time being. It would almost be cute if he could cease growling like a wounded bear at the rest of you. He specializes in long-range firearms much like you do, but he has the bulk and size to brawl if needed. After Makara, he is the biggest threat. Of course, that would require him to actually put down John (which is not going to happen), so he is downgraded to 'least threatening.'  
  
As the otter lusus clambers onto the deck and begins to sniff around, the others slowly approach you. You hate that they exaggerate their movements as if you are some sort of wild animal plotting either an escape or their demise. Even if it is partially true. Mostly true. Okay, except for the 'wild animal' part that is pretty much what you have been doing this entire time.  
  
"John -- sick," the finned troll is saying. "Storm -- him better. -- fix --?"  
  
Rose automatically turns to you to translate, "Eridan is concerned about John still being ill. He notes that after pacifying the storm he seemed to be in better health. Is this normal for him?"  
  
"Since he usually sleeps off the post-use period under heavy sedation, none of this is normal," you counter. "However, it might have to do with him using his powers despite the restraints I placed on him. They were meant to prevent him from remembering the times he used his powers as well as keep them locked away, but I'm realizing now that they might work both ways- stopping him from remembering his normal life when he overcomes them."  
  
"Is there no way for you to modify these 'restraints' to be the one-way valve you imagined?"  
  
"Probably not," you admit. "Even if I slap some more on him as I have before, we are still at the same fundamental problem of his magic eventually overpowering my own. However, if I dispel all the seals completely, he might have a better chance of reconciling his ability with, well, the rest of him."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"-danger to everyone around him," someone is arguing, loudly. You mind struggles to come into focus, your eyes still closed for the moment. Bluh. You think you might have felt better if you had been run over by a stampede.  
  
"Oh, like I am going to take the word of a Witcher when it comes to the safety of my people," snarls your sister. "You asked for the option that is best for John and I told you it. Besides, I think this decision is not yours to make."  
  
"Jade?" you call, wanting her to stop being so damn vicious for like five minutes. And also less loud. That would be great.  
  
"John," the voice of your moirail is above you. Opening your eyes, you see his face looking down at you. "Thank [expletive]. Who -- feel?"  
  
"Bluh," you reply. With minimal struggling, you manage to curl up into a semi-sitting position in your moirail's arms. Before you are Jade, Rose, Kanaya, Karkat, and even the weird facepaint guy. Somehow all of you are back on Eridan's ship. You have no idea how you got here. The surrealism of the scene makes you wonder if this is another weird fever dream. You have had _quite_ enough of those lately.  
  
"John, this is really important, okay?" says your sister, taking your face into her hands. (Wow, when did she get so close?)  
  
"Hmm?" you shift your focus onto her. "Okay."  
  
She switches to your native tongue, "How much do you remember about the windy thing?"  
  
The phrase sparks recognition in your mind, but beyond that is darkness. What you remember about anything, though, is simply, "It was storming."  
  
"That's right," she smiles. "It was, but you stopped it. Do you remember that?"  
  
"I...did?" your thought fizzles out quickly.  
  
"You flew up to the storm and you drew in its power, then you knocked the lanky guy right off the boat," she informs you.  
  
Something about that sounded _awfully_ familiar, but, "I thought... I was dreaming, right?"  
  
There is a harsh intake of breath. You open your eyes you didn't remember closing again. Your twin's face is stretched with something that looks tense, almost painful. That wakes you up more than anything.  
  
"Y-yeah, maybe you were," replies your sister. "Then again, maybe you weren't. Some of the Dreamers could walk in both places at once. I need to ask, do you want to dream again?"  
  
"I'm so tired of bein' sick," you confide.  
  
"...Okay," her expression smooths. "Okay. I'm going to help make you better, alright? But first I need you to try and stay awake. Think you can do that much?"  
  
You nod, "Mmhmm."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You warily keep an eye on the conversation the two siblings are having, glancing to Rose every now and then for guidance. However, she looks as frustrated as the rest of you at the moment. The human multiple languages thing is coming back to be super annoying again. At least this is the longest period your little moirail has been awake. He is even responding.  
  
Then Jade looks up at you, "Help John. No move."  
  
That is all the warning you get before her hands come up with a bright green glow. Sparking into life around your moirail are complicated floating symbols in a matching color. They are swirling circular things, intricate spirals entwined with strange runes. He remains surprisingly calm, simply gazing at the markings with mild curiosity. Then again, being raised with Jade, he probably has seen quite a lot of her particular psychic ability.  
  
With one last reassurance, the green-eyed sibling makes a crushing motion with both hands. Two of the symbols shatter, pieces flickering out of existence almost instantly. In your arms John physically shudders, eyes narrowing with discomfort. Around him, the remaining three symbols flare briefly and spin. Opening her hands again, Jade repeats the process, destroying the two smaller markings. Definitely grinding his teeth, all of the boy's muscles have gone rigid. Only the large symbol hovering above his chest left, you watch bits of it starting to crumble away at the edges.  
  
"This is starting to look rather dangerous," the jadeblood shifts uneasily. "Perhaps we should ask Jade to discontinue her endeavors until-"  
  
The final seal shatters in a burst of blue.  
  
The bright blue light you have come to despise is shining out of his eyes again, but this time his face is not emotionless. Instead it is pinched and full of pain, brows drawn low and eyes squinting. His hands are fists, clenched so hard his knuckles are dusky ash. A strange whining sound emits from him somewhere, like a gasket on one of Vriska's doomsday inventions about to explode from the pressure. Around the two of you, winds begin to whip up.  
  
"Hang on, John," you plead with him, tucking him in closer. "Hang on. You can wweather it."   
  
For a moment his eyes close and you are certain that disaster is about to strike. However, he simply relaxes all over, from toes to shoulders, until he is a limp noodle in your arms. When his eyes open again, they are their normal royal blue, somewhere between cerulean and indigo. They also have regained most of their luster.  
  
"Good evvening," he quirks a tired grin.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You realize you have been spacing out for awhile when you hear Karkat begrudgingly asking if the little blue human is _sure_ he is actually okay. Looking over, it is easy to tell that he is placating them with repeated phrases of he is fine and variants thereof. His hands are raised in the universal symbol of 'calm the motherfuck down please' while the others crowd around him. What is more interesting to you is the fact that his feet are about a handswidth off the deck.  
  
"Best keep a hand on your palebro before he up and floats away," you recommend.  
  
Furrowing his brow, Ampora shifts his gaze from you to his moirail before his eyes widen, "Fucking- are you _kiddin_ me?" He grabs a tiny shoulder and gently pushes down until the scrawny kid is back on the ground. As for the boy, he blinks a few times before looking down at his feet with a frown. Huh, it looks like he did not even realize he was doing the psychic floaty thing. This is going to be interesting or a huge pain in the ass. Better to distance yourself now and make sure that it does not become your problem.  
  
"I think John might up and require the tutelage of another psychic."  
  
"That is a valid point and an excellent idea, Makara," the prim jadeblood says.  
  
Her matesprit human continues, "Indeed. If John has never consciously used his powers, it is going to at the very least take some time for him to adjust to having them. I would suggest not having him abovedeck unless someone is with him- for his safety, of course. It would be rather troublesome to have to hunt him down after he accidentally floated away on a breeze."  
  
"We could always just tie some rope to him," suggests your own moirail. "At least until he can control the whole windy thing."  
  
"Windy thing!" happily agrees John. As if to show an example, his eyes briefly flicker cyan as the air around all of you stirs. A small whirlwind begins, kicking up rime and bits of seaweed. This would be much more amusing if the same glow had not already made the association with his subconscious trying to demolish you.  
  
"Show-off!" his littermate accuses him, shoving his shoulder.  
  
The light stutters out with his indignant yelp. Then the two are play-fighting like a couple of wrigglers who have yet to figure out how to make lethal attacks. You note that the light-haired human carefully steps out of the way. Probably how she keeps her pretty purple clothes so clean. It takes Ampora physically picking up his moirail to cease the struggle.  
  
"I think wwe havve all had enough excitement tonight," the violetblood says. "I don't havve nearly enough 'coons for evveryone, but let's get somethin' figured out and crash."  
  
*        *        *        *        *  
  
After a less than restful day, you are working with an overenthusiastic John to create something for breakfast. When you had left your quarters, you had found him already wandering around the hive with bleary eyes. The promise of food had done much to lift his spirits. Having such a ~~menace~~ overzealous presence in the kitchen with a lit oven and knives and other dangerous objects, however, is proving to be a bit of a trial.  
  
"John, please refrain from-" you cut off as the wind picks up around you.  
  
The precarious bowl of half-mixed dough is pushed back in place by a gust as the boy himself continues to move _burning logs_ with his bare hands. He apparently is set on getting the oven to the perfect temperature by evening the flames, but it is not doing any favors to your nerves. There is a high likelihood that Ampora will be decidedly unhappy should he awake to find his moirail with injuries. Or his hive burning down around him.  
  
"I really must insist-" you try again.  
  
"Kanaya," his tone is exasperated, as if you are the one being unreasonable.  
  
"John," you match him in disapproval. "Please."  
  
Airy laughter is the only response. However, he does finally stop messing with the logs in favor of getting the bread dough into the oven. Then he is a whirlwind as he gathers a few things and turns the corner to go up the stairs. Curious, you follow him abovedeck to see what he is up to now. The sun is still setting, casting the sky ablaze in array of colors. The small human simply sits at the very edge of the deck and closes his eyes to soak up the rays. It reminds you of when you first met him.  
  
You remember when you first started dating her, Rose informed you that humans are a diurnal species. Although she adjusted well to a more nocturnal schedule, it probably helped that you were always an early riser. For John, this brief time before his moirail rises is probably a bit of normalcy in his otherwise tumultuous life. Oh dear. Your matesprit is certainly rubbing off on you.  
  
"May I join you?" you ask.  
  
He smiles, even scooting over a bit so you can sit in a less precarious spot. Primly folding your legs underneath you, you settle onto the worn wood. Despite the fact you are the only troll you know who regularly spends time outside during the day you close your eyes. Even for you the light is just a bit too bright. Still, it is peaceful.  
  
When you hear the furious screams of your nubby-horned friend later, you can almost ignore it.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
Stomping your way to the deck where you know that dribbling miscreant is hiding, you are taken aback when you note Kanaya is sitting and enjoying the warmth of the early evening. You swallow your tirade of swears and nearly backpedal back down the stairs. Then you see the tiny figure hidden on her lee side and your rage rekindles.  
  
"John," you growl at the most reasonable volume you can manage.  
  
He _squeaks_ like a wriggler. It does not make you feel sorry for him in the slightest. Nor will you so easily forgive him for his transgressions. After all, just mere moments ago, you were subjected to a level of humiliation that even Gamzee in all his sopor-induced stupor has never forced you to suffer. You do not even want to know where he found those buckets. (You really, really don't.) At least now you know why that room was on quarantine.  
  
"Good evvening?" tries the boy.  
  
You inhale deeply through your nose, "You know what? Despite your continued attempts to make it anything but a good evening, I'm going to be the bigger troll here and not beat you into a bloody pulp. Nor am I going to assume that your poor taste in pranks is some sort of weird attempt at pitch flirting. Instead, I am going to go tell your moirail."  
  
He exclaims something that you are sure is meant to be both placating and infuriating, but you are not interested, "No. Just, no John. You fucked up on a level that I am not sure you can even comprehend. I am never going to get the memory to scrub out no matter how much thinkpan cleaner I use. Just... why?"  
  
"Do I even want to inquire as to what you are referring to?" asks Kanaya.  
  
You grimace, "Probably not. It's just one of his more inane pranks. The twig is a menace."  
  
"It is time for eveningmeal," Rose sees fit to inform you. "Also, John. Bread."  
  
"Bread!" he exclaims. Leaping up, he darts down the stairs with a rush of wind. You have to squint against the buffet and note that Rose has to plant her feet to prevent being bowled over completely. Menace is too kind. The boy is a walking hazard.  
  
Luckily breakfast is not completely ruined, and food does somewhat mollify you. There is entirely too little space around the violetbloods table. Apparently he had never considered the need for entertaining large groups when he remodeled his hive. By the time you turn to talk to Eridan, you note that his tiny moirail is already gone. Of course. He likely escaped as soon as your attention was diverted. Prick.  
  
You decide not to tell the violetblood about what happened. You do not need any reminders of that particularly excruciating amount of embarrassment.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
It is not long after everyone splits up to attend their own distractions that you go looking for one of the twins. There are some questions you would like answered. Although you somewhat doubt the ability (or willingness) for them to respond intelligibly, but you feel as if you must try. When you spot John slinking through one of the hallways, you call out a greeting.  
  
"I am glad that I caught you alone," you admit. "I have been wanting to speak with you about your sudden, and seemingly smooth, acceptance of yourself having wind magic. How are you doing?"  
  
His mouth does that thing where his lips jut out a tiny bit and he squints, as if trying to decipher just how friendly your query could be, "I'm... okay."  
  
"Just okay?" you prod.  
  
He considers this, "I mean, if you really want me to unload on you..."  
  
You smile, "I would love nothing more than to know the inner turmoil of your mind."  
  
Scoffing, he says, "Wow. Well, okay. It is a lot to process and I think I'm still working on it? Like, the Dreamer clan stories are something Grandpa Harley used to tell us to make us go to sleep. But I never really thought much of it. Sure Jade has always had her witchy thing she does with objects and seals and potions and like everything every because she is basically a prodigy in magic... but I was always just John. I was the face between the sailors and the family because I was one who could pass as mostly normal.  
  
"To find out that my sister has been lying to me for almost my entire life does not feel good. To realize that I am actually a danger to other people feels worse. I let it out in little bursts to try and vent it, but there is a very scary amount of power inside me that I am almost certain I will never be able to fully control. If I released it right now, all of it, I feel like it would probably destroy everything. It probably wouldn't, but it would destroy _enough_.  
  
"I also have a moirail that I can barely communicate with, let alone discuss these issues. I am not about to have a feelings jam with you; this is all just information so you can decide whether you want to remain involved or not. So in conclusion, I'm okay. Not great. Not terrible. Just okay."  
  
You are quite frankly stunned into silence. The boy from the island has always struck you as straightforward in a refreshing way that you are not used to dealing with in the courts. However, you never had someone be so open and honest with their thoughts and feelings before. Normally these dark secrets are something that you would have to tease out and pick apart from countless conversations.  
  
"Rose?" his brow is furrowed with concern. "Did I... Was that a bit too much?"  
  
"Not at all," you compose yourself. "I am just not accustomed to such blunt statements. I will note that the most pressing matter is your inability to discuss these things with your moirail. Therefore, we have work to do. Gather your sister and meet me abovedeck."  
  
"For what?" he asks.  
  
"For the most intensive Alternian grammar course in the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit i am indeed still alive. who would have thought?? although it is not from lack of other people trying.
> 
> i was in a pretty gnarly car wreck ((and some other things happened before that)), but the good news is that it gave me some time off to write. the bad news is that i had a period with no income. im back at work now and we somehow are making ends meet but - please be patient with me. i do not intend to abandon my fics. i just have a lot on my plate
> 
> lots of love
> 
> krisander, captain of the sharknado ship and admiral of the rarepair armada

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays folks!! consider this your present from me. sorry its not wrapped. logistically speakin i couldnt figure that one out. 
> 
> im actually pretty fuckin excited about this fic. this is another one of those jokingly paired together random couple that suddenly i found myself seriously shipping. who knew?? expect to see fairly regular updates of this starting sometime next month ((going on a short hiatus to visit my moirail over the holidays)). of course. there is always the chance i will get some writin done while i see her.


End file.
